Lyricless Lament
by EstelRaca
Summary: The one thing he learned from his father that maybe, just maybe, had some merit was not to be ashamed of his tears. Five times Sebastian cried in front of others, and one time someone cried in front of Sebastian.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** This story is complete, with six parts, but it may take me a little bit to get them all uploaded, because life is crazy. It spans the time gap between Ace Investigations 2 and Apollo Justice, so expect spoilers through the end of Apollo Justice.

 _Lyricless Lament_

1.

Sebastian testifies against his father in open court.

Prosecutor Edgeworth had told him that he didn't have to. There was enough evidence to see his father convicted even without Sebastian's testimony, and Prosecutor Edgeworth had no intention of allowing the elder DeBeste to get away with his crimes. Sebastian had even been tempted by the offer, not quite trusting himself to face his father again.

Which was why he agreed to do it, really. Sebastian _cannot_ allow his father to have that much control over his life—over his _duty_. And it _is_ Sebastian's duty to testify, because it is Sebastian's duty to protect and defend the law. If he wants to be the man—the _prosecutor—_ that Edgeworth keeps saying he can be, then Sebastian will need to face his nightmares.

Face his failings.

Face his father.

He does well for the first part of his testimony. He keeps his eyes focused on Prosecutor Edgeworth. He uses the words and phrases that he and Edgeworth had spent hours going over yesterday. He doesn't stumble at all.

Everything is going fantastically until his father speaks up. "Sebastian, my boy, I don't think you really know what you're talking about."

A flick of his father's fingers, a familiar motion, and Sebastian flinches back before he can stop himself. His father doesn't have a lighter right now. There is no possible way that Edgeworth or Detective Gumshoe would have allowed his father to bring a weapon into the courtroom.

Years worth of instinct still tell him that he is in danger, that the tenor of his father's voice in concert with that motion is a recipe for pain, and Sebastian flinches back, his voice stuttering to a halt.

"DeBeste." Edgeworth practically glows with righteous fury. "I can and will have you removed for contempt of court if you continue to interrupt."

"I'm pretty sure that's not part of your job description, Mister Edgeworth." Blaize DeBeste turns tearful eyes to the judge. "And I do apologize, your honor, it's just that the boy's clearly misremembering a great many things. Including who has raised and taken care of him."

Sebastian can feel his arms and legs trembling, and he shoves his gloved hands into his armpits, hoping to keep the shivers from being too obvious. He knows _exactly_ who has taken care of him, and it is not the man whose DNA he shares.

"Hmm." The judge blinks between the prosecutor's stand and where the defendant is currently restrained. "While Mr. DeBeste _does_ have a point about whose job it is to hand out penalties and declare people in contempt of court..."

Edgeworth bows, calm and collected. "My apologies, Your Honor. I just saw no need to annoy you with the triviality involved in making what should be a very obvious call."

"In the future, annoy me." The judge turns back to Sebastian's father. "He _does_ have a point though, Mr. DeBeste. It is not your place to interrupt the witness' testimony."

"If my defense attorney were good for anything, I wouldn't have had to." His father wipes at his eyes, but Sebastian can still hear the anger bubbling beneath the surface, feel his father's gaze like the first lick of fire against his skin. "But the boy's either been misinformed or is lying, and there's evidence to that fact. What color did you say the van was again?"

Had he mentioned a van color? Sebastian can't remember. He can't remember _anything_ about what he's supposed to be saying, can't remember the order of his carefully-prepared testimony, and he turns to Edgeworth for assistance even as his mouth blurts out an answer. "Black? Yes, it was black, of course."

"Of course?" The way his father mimics the words sends a shiver up and down Sebastian's spine. "It _wasn't_. It was _white_ , and if you can't remember a simple color how are we supposed to trust you about anything else?"

How are they, indeed? Given how much he's managed to be blind and deaf and dumb to already, why _should_ anyone trust his testimony about anything? Tears blur his vision, and Sebastian blinks frantically, trying to clear them away. He will _not_ break down. He will _not_ disappoint Prosecutor Edgeworth.

His father continues, words coming fast and hard. "Really, boy, to think I wasted so much time on you—"

" _Objection_." Edgeworth's voice rings through the courtroom, his palm striking the prosecutor's bench with an audible smack. "The defendant is clearly trying to fluster and confuse the witness. Given the nature of their relationship, I request that the court demand the defendant remain _quiet_ for the remainder of the testimony or find himself held in contempt and _dismissed_ from court."

"Objection sustained." The judge's gavel slams down. "Restrain yourself for the duration of the testimony, Mr. DeBeste."

"Now, _Prosecutor_ DeBeste." Edgeworth's tone is calm, his stance confident and relaxed as he turns to Sebastian. "Please continue your testimony."

"Right. So." Sebastian tries to remember where he had been in his testimony. "After you referenced me from the garage—"

Edgeworth frowns, and Sebastian stutters to a halt, face flaming red hot. He's done something wrong again. Edgeworth's finger taps against his arm. "I believe the word you were searching for is _released_ , Prosecutor DeBeste. Possibly _rescued_."

"Ah... right... yes." Sebastian swallows, acutely aware of his father watching him.

Blaize DeBeste's hand moves, striking flame from a lighter that isn't there.

Sebastian stumbles through the rest of his testimony, then through a bitterly long cross-examination. He mixes up words and inverts the order of events. He is crying by the time he is halfway through the cross-examination, tears flowing freely down his face, his body flinching instinctively every time his father makes a small movement.

He doesn't stop, though. He humiliates himself, and he's not certain he's actually _helped_ Prosecutor Edgeworth's case, but he doesn't quit. He continues doggedly on until the defense has no more questions, until the mutterings of the gallery are the only sound in the courtroom.

"Thank you, Prosecutor DeBeste. I think everyone here has found your testimony, both about the latest incident and about events you watched unfold as a child, most enlightening." Edgeworth graces Sebastian with the smallest smile before turning his full attention to the judge. "If you are satisfied, Your Honor, I request that Prosecutor DeBeste be allowed to retire for the day."

The judge nods gravely. "I think we've heard everything we need to. Go clean yourself up, son."

Sebastian doesn't wait to be dismissed a second time. He sets his sights on the door to the prosecution's lobby, not looking at either Prosecutor Edgeworth or his father, and tries to walk calmly towards it.

He makes it into the prosecutor's lobby before his tears start in earnest again, and it is more feel and memory that guide him into the bathroom, with a small detour to stub his toe on the courthouse replica and a longer stop when he winds himself around the drinking fountain slowing him down.

Idiot.

He is an absolute _idiot_ , just like his father said, and he has just proven it in court. Prosecutor Edgeworth was right. He shouldn't ever have tried to testify. He shouldn't ever have tried to face down his father again. He should simply have stayed to the side, allowed Edgeworth to fight this fight.

Except it is _his_ fight as much or more than it is Edgeworth's. _He_ doesn't want to see his father free to continue running things as he has been. _He_ doesn't want to be a tool in his father's arsenal.

He wants to _help_ , but his stumbling tongue and his fear and his _incompetence_ seem intent on keeping him from doing so.

The door to the bathroom swings open again half a minute after Sebastian has stumbled through, and Sebastian squints through aching eyes to see who it is. Not Edgeworth—Edgeworth will still be in court. One of his father's minions, come to tell Sebastian what he already knows? Justine or Kay, come to see that he's all right? Wait, no, that would be silly, he's in the men's room.

It turns out to be someone he doesn't know, a young man about his own age with gold-blond hair. The newcomer is wearing sunglasses, though he takes them off as Sebastian studies him, slipping them into a back pocket.

"H-hello." Sebastian sniffles, trying to collect himself. Who is this person? Sebastian has never seen them before, but they _should_ be associated with the prosecutor's office in some way to have access to this area. "Can I help you?"

"Ach, that was supposed to be my line." The newcomer smiles sheepishly, blue eyes studying Sebastian intently. A light accent colors all of his words.

"I'm f-fatalistic." Sebastian swipes again at his still-tearing eyes.

One pale eyebrow arches. "I suspect you were searching for another word. Perhaps fantastic?"

"Probably. Possibly." Sebastian draws a shuddering breath... and expels it in another round of bitter sobbing that he can't seem to get to stop. "S-sorry. Just—I—"

"Have nothing to apologize for. _Verzeihung_ , perhaps I should not have followed you. I just thought, perhaps, you would not want to be alone after having to go through that." The blond pulls a purple handkerchief with a stylized _G_ embroidered in the corner from his back pocket and holds it out to Sebastian. "And that perhaps you would want something like this."

Sebastian takes the proffered handkerchief, wiping at his eyes and face tentatively. "Thank you. Though... um... if you don't mind my asking... who are you?"

"Gavin!" The blond beams, his thumbs hooking into belt loops on his tight pants as he leans against the wall without the sinks, across from Sebastian. "I am Klavier Gavin."

"Gavin..." Sebastian turns the name over in his mouth, certain that he's heard it before—certain he's heard his father say the name. "Isn't Gavin a defense attorney?"

"That would be my older brother." Klavier's right hand rises, fiddling with a lock of hair that seems to have been artfully arranged between his eyes. "Even with two careers of my own, it seems that I cannot escape his shadow."

Sebastian blinks. "Two careers?"

"Have you heard of the Gavinners?" Klavier leans forward, all eager energy; when Sebastian shakes his head, he returns to leaning against the wall. "Well, just wait. Give it time. We're doing fantastically well on the charts right now."

"So..." Sebastian finds himself reaching down to touch the baton at his side. "You're a musician, then?"

" _Nein_." Klavier shakes his head. "Well, actually, _ja_ , but that is not why I'm here today. I passed the bar three weeks ago, and I have accepted employment here."

"Oh." Frowning, Sebastian tries to wrestle the pieces of the puzzle into a coherent whole. "Oh! You mean we're going to be coagments?"

Klavier's mouth turns down in a brief frown. "I believe the word you're looking for is colleagues."

"Right. That too." Sebastian sighs, Klavier's handkerchief balled into a fist in his left hand. "Sorry."

"It's all right." Klavier waves a hand. "I'm still getting used to using English all the time again. I'm certain you'll be able to correct me multiple times before the week is out."

"Yes, but that's _reasonable_ , if you know another language." Sebastian sniffles before he can stop himself.

Klavier's head tilts slightly to the right. "You don't believe that your mistakes are reasonable?"

Sebastian shrugs, not able to meet the other prosecutor's gaze. "English is my one and only language."

"Hmm." Klavier crosses his arms in front of his chest. "They are large words that you use. Complicated words. Some that one does not hear very often."

Folding the handkerchief into neat squares, Sebastian sets it on the rim of the closest sink. "Yes, well, I'm used to people using a lot of complicated words around me. They have for most of my life. Only apparently at least one wasn't using them properly, but no one's really corrected me up until now. Likely because my father ordered them not to."

"A cruel thing to do. It isn't possible to learn to do things properly unless you know when you're doing them wrong." Klavier frowns, a sudden, fierce expression. "From what was said today, though, it seems that is one of the smaller cruelties he has visited upon others."

"It's just a silly thing." Sebastian's hands have pulled his baton out, are twisting the thin metal rod between them. "Compared to everything else he's done, it's nothing."

"Ach, _zaubermaus_ , smaller does not mean nothing. It's possible to recognize that murder is a graver offense than kicking a puppy and still be quite distraught over the whimpering pup."

Sebastian's cheeks flare with heat again, and his eyes immediately begin tearing. "I'm not a puppy, whimpering or otherwise."

Klavier pulls back, blinking in puzzlement, and shakes his head. "I did not mean to imply that you were. I'm sorry if I caused offense."

"No, it's... it's all right." Closing his eyes, Sebastian draws a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "I just... I hate that I let him get to me. That I humiliated myself and may have hurt Prosecutor Edgeworth's case."

"Let me put one of those fears to rest, then. You did not hurt Prosecutor Edgeworth's case." Klavier smiles again, his whole body seeming to perk up at the mention of Edgeworth. "For one thing, there isn't a force known to man that can stop the Demon Prosecutor when he is on the trail of corruption. For another, I was in the gallery, and everyone could see what your father was doing. It did not work. He only looked like a bully, attempting to hide the light of truth under a barrel of fear and misdirection. It will not succeed."

"I—you—" Sebastian chews on his bottom lip and forces himself to start with the most important part of Prosecutor Gavin's testimony. "You're certain? I didn't hurt the case?"

"You did not." Klavier shakes his head, blond hair accentuating the movement. "You would have to ask Prosecutor Edgeworth for his opinion, of course, but in mine, you were an exemplary witness."

"Yes, well—have you actually tried any cases yet?"

The sheepish smile on Klavier's face gives Sebastian his answer.

"Well, I suppose the blind leading the blind is better than stumbling along alone." Sebastian tosses his baton in the air, catching it with the ease of long practice. "Were you in the gallery studying?"

"I wanted to see Prosecutor Edgeworth in action. He is rather legendary. A young prodigy of a prosecutor, with experience in multiple countries." Klavier straightens, obvious pride in his voice. "I attended some of the same courses that he did, while I was studying in Germany. And since I have little to do while my paperwork is processed so that I may begin taking on cases, but can join the gallery at any time thanks to this..."

Klavier tosses his prosecutor's badge into the air and catches it before slipping it back into his pocket.

Sebastian touches his own badge, pinned to his lapel. "You thought it was a good time to see the legend in action."

" _Ja_." Klavier continues to grin. "I was not disappointed."

"But..." Sebastian frowns, pointing back towards the courtroom. "Why aren't you out there now? There must still be another hour or so left in the trial, based on the evidence that Prosecutor Edgeworth had submitted."

"I'm sure there is. And I will eagerly read the transcript, when it becomes available." Klavier shrugs, smile taking on that sheepish note again. "But I thought, perhaps... you would like someone to talk to, after going through that."

Groaning, Sebastian buries his face in his hands. _This_ is what people are always going to think of him. He is always going to be the crybaby prosecutor, the boy who entered the law profession only due to the whims of his father.

The thought causes another sniffle to break free, and Sebastian presses his face deeper into his hands. He is just as pathetic as his father was say—

"It takes a great deal of bravery, to do what you did." Klavier pushes himself away from the wall, crossing the distance to Sebastian slowly. "To face down someone who has held power over you, someone you have respected—that takes courage and bravery."

Sebastian shakes his head. "I didn't see. It should have been so obvious, and it took me so long to understand what he was doing, what he was—"

"I think... there were likely many reasons you found it hard to see." Klavier's fingers brush gently against the white fabric of Sebastian's gloved hand, but he doesn't say anything further—doesn't speculate, as many of the journal articles have speculated, and Sebastian appreciates that. "He was family. He had the respect of a great many other people. One of those alone would be hard to overcome; both together? It is a testament to your dedication to truth and justice that you stood with Prosecutor Edgeworth today."

"Stood and forgot my words." Sebastian swallows, not sure what to make of Klavier's physical proximity, of the sharp, attentive way Klavier is watching him. "Stood and c-cried."

"Sometimes tears are a necessary reaction." Klavier shrugs, taking a step back. "Too many musicians have acquired too much money and fame writing songs to pull at the heartstrings for me to denounce tears. They are a lyricless lament, and we are lucky when we can find a fraction of that emotion with our words and our chords."

"It is a popular genre." Sebastian's hands are once more fiddling with his baton. "But I... _he_ always said that it was all right to cry. That it didn't make you less of a man or a prosecutor. But he was also willing to kill me and he _did_ kill other people and... well..."

"I believe the saying in English is that a stopped clock is right twice a day?" Klavier is fiddling with his hair again, expression pensive. "A corrupt man must know the language of the innocent, if he wants to blend in with them. Not everything that your father did or said will have been terrible. And perhaps that is the hardest thing of all, sorting out what is irredeemable from that which merely looks tainted by association."

Sebastian laughs, a strained, breathless sound. "Sometimes it seems that everything has been tainted by association. I know that isn't true, if nothing else Prosecutor Edgeworth means that's not true, but... ah, I don't know why I'm burdening you with this."

"Because you need to talk to someone, and I have made myself available." The smile that Klavier gives him now is warm, compassionate. "We are going to be working together, hopefully for a very long time. With what you have done today, you have already shown yourself to be a worthy and trustworthy colleague. At the moment I can offer nothing but my own assurances that I will be the same, but for what it's worth I do give you my word I won't talk of this with anyone else. And I _can_ say I have already had some small experience with overly enthusiastic members of the press, so I do understand the need for discretion with these things."

"Thank you." Sebastian wipes once more at his eyes. "I mean... I suppose I can't trust you yet, but if you are what you appear to be... thank you."

"I can assure you, I am what I appear to be. Having two jobs is difficult enough; I see no need to complicate my life further by playing with masks." Klavier is once more toying with his hair, the fine blond strands sliding between his fingers. "Besides, justice is blind. She relies on her ears, listening for the truth in our words and our hearts. I think it thus more fitting to put my efforts towards crafting my own voice and finding the truth beneath other's masks, rather than building a mask of my own."

Sebastian isn't entirely sure he understands what Klavier just said, but he's fairly certain it was Klavier trying to reassure him, so he sniffles and nods.

Klavier nods his head toward the courtroom. "Did you want to see the end of the trial?"

Sebastian thinks about it for a moment and then shakes his head. "No. I'd rather not have to see him right now."

"A reasonable enough choice." Klavier tilts his head to the left, smiling again. The expression seems to come easily to him. "I don't suppose you know any good grub places in the vicinity?"

"I... uh... maybe?" Sebastian swallows as his voice squeaks. "I mean, yes. If you're hungry, I can show you some places. If you'd like."

"I would." Klavier's smile becomes a full-fledged grin.

And that's how Sebastian ends up going out to lunch with Klavier Gavin while his father's sentencing occurs, talking about Prosecutor Edgeworth and the looming bright future of the legal system.

All things considered, it ends up being a far better day than Sebastian had expected, even if he forgets to return Gavin's handkerchief and ends up crying into it again that evening, when Edgeworth tells him that his father will hang for the crimes that he has committed.


	2. Chapter 2

2.

Sebastian suffers his first loss in court three months after he passes the bar.

He knows what's going to happen before it does. He has just spent three days desperately trying to find the evidence he needs to see his suspect convicted, but somehow the defense has managed to rip gaping holes in his theory anyway.

The defense isn't even a _good_ attorney, like Ray Shields, or a well-respected one, like Klavier's brother, or even an _old_ one, like Grossberg. Would it sting less, if it were Mr. Shields standing across the courtroom from him? Would the smug certainty in the defense's eyes as Sebastian struggles to find some way to salvage the proceedings look like something else—like justifiable pride, or honorable conviction?

He's going to cry. Sebastian stares across the courtroom at the thirty-something-year-old nobody who is going to destroy his win record, and his eyes begin to prickle uncomfortably, and he's going to _cry_. In the middle of court, because he couldn't do his _job_ , because he's the failure his father said he was, and—

"Do you have anything more to add, Mr. DeBeste?" The judge is an old man—the same old man who presided at the trial of Blaize DeBeste. His eyes aren't cruel as he stares down at Sebastian, merely calmly questioning. "Any other evidence to present? Any other witnesses to call?"

Sebastian looks down at his notes, biting down on the inside of his cheek until blood floods his mouth. Surely he has _something_. Something that he missed, some little piece that will let the pieces fall into place...

He knows that he doesn't, though. The defense hasn't even presented evidence today. All they've done is examine the evidence that Sebastian submitted to the court record in a new light, and with that new insight it becomes painfully obvious that the young woman on trial could not be the killer.

"Prosecutor DeBeste." The judge is frowning, now, a mild display of disapproval.

It is still enough to make Sebastian's already-unsteady hands begin shaking noticeably, and he presses his palms to the top of the bench, trying to hide the evidence of weakness. He can still _feel_ it, though, a shivering that starts at his core and spreads out to infect his whole body.

"Prosecutor DeBeste, I would appreciate you not wasting the court's time." The judge leans toward him. "Do you or do you not have anything else to present?"

"I—I'm s-sorry, your honor." Sebastian squeezes his eyes shut, refusing to let tears fall. Not here. Not yet. He will not embarrass himself—and thus, by extension, everyone who has helped him—with such an obvious display of weakness. "I... the prosecution has nothing else to present."

"I see." The judge settles back in his seat, his eyebrows rising just slightly. "In that case, I suppose it's time for a verdict to be handed down. Ms. Anne Chovy, for the murder of your step-brother, Mac Kerel, the court finds you..."

A dramatic pause, and the judge's eyes rove over the courtroom, as though he expects someone to say something. As though he is waiting for an interruption, for some great insight, but Sebastian has nothing to offer, and after long seconds of silence the judge sighs and slams down the gavel.

"Not guilty."

The words are a brand to Sebastian's ears, though they are almost immediately drowned out by the sound of his heart, beating fast and desperate in the too-close confines of his skull. He failed. He was _trusted_ , both by those in power and by the people who depend on the justice system, and he failed.

It isn't his first trial. He has been the prosecution for over a half-dozen trials already, though he has rarely been working alone. Before he was called to Europe, Miles Edgeworth helped him; when Edgeworth left, Sebastian still had Gumshoe and Justine and Kay to fall back on.

He shouldn't _need_ them, though. He should be able to do this _himself_. This is his _job_ , finding justice for the dead, and he has utterly failed.

He can't seem to hear anything, and his vision is badly blurred. Hopefully the judge doesn't try to talk to him. The last thing Sebastian needs is to have the judge think he is being intentionally contemptuous, when really all Sebastian is trying to do is not burst into uncontrollable sobs in the middle of the courtroom.

He succeeds in not sobbing.

He doesn't succeed in not crying. Tears patter down onto his paperwork, drops that he can feel against his hands but not quite see through the blurring of his vision. His chest feels tight; his throat is attempting to close up. He won't have a _choice_ soon about whether he sobs, unless he wants to choke to death on his own mucus and misery. Though given his luck, he would probably survive and have to live with the shame of having passed out after his failure for the rest of his life.

 _Crybaby_ , his father's voice whispers in his ear. _Useless wretch._

Shoving everything into his bag as quickly as he can, knowing that he simply needs to get _out_ , Sebastian retreats back toward his office at the fastest speed he can manage without running into a wall.

He makes it back. He's not quite sure _how_ , but he eventually makes it back to his office, and once the door clicks shut behind him he lets the tears flow freely.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_ , to let himself be set up like he was. A waste of time, a waste of money, a waste of a _life_ , and he sees the dead man's eyes staring up at him from the autopsy report and the sobs just come harder.

He doesn't hear the knock on his door. Or perhaps Klavier didn't knock, but the other prosecutor usually does, and Sebastian sees no reason he would change that habit now.

Or perhaps he does. Perhaps Sebastian has sunk low enough, with this last display of foolishness, to not merit even the courtesy of a knock at his office door.

Klavier's hand touches tentatively at Sebastian's shoulder, and a box of tissues is pressed gently against Sebastian's chest until Sebastian manages to unclench his fingers from their death-grip on his suit jacket and hold it.

He needs them, honestly. He's sure he must look terrible, his eyes bright red from crying, his face a mess of tears and snot, and he pulls a tissue from the box with trembling fingers and mops furiously at his face. Another tissue, another mopping effort, and on the third one he thinks it's probably safe to attempt blowing his nose.

He's gone through at least a dozen tissues by the time he can blink the office and his guest into a semblance of focus, and Sebastian shoves them all into the wastebasket in one fell swoop, his cheeks flaming hot with embarrassment and shame. "I'm... s-sorry. This is v-very impersonable of me."

"Unprofessional?" Klavier's hand retreats from Sebastian's shoulder, returning to its usual place at the prosecutor's hip as Klavier leans against Sebastian's desk. "There is no need to stand on profession, _mein Freunde_. It is just you and I here. Did something happen that you need to discuss?"

"I..." He will have to say it. If he is going to continue investigating, which he _must_ , if he is going to try the case again, then he needs to be able to say what happened this time without flinching. His voice is still a bare, choked whisper when he finally pushes the words out, though. "I l-lost."

Klavier leans closer, a frown on his face. His short blond hair is flying around his head in an artful mess that Sebastian couldn't replicate if he tried, though it looks remarkably good on the singer. "Come again?"

"I _lost_." From too-quiet to too-loud as Sebastian spits out the admission, and he can feel all the skin from his clavicles— _not_ carbuncles—up to the very top of his head burning. "My case. The defendant was found not guilty."

"Ah." Klavier breathes out the soft sound, his face twisting into an unreadable expression. Disdain? Anger? Disbelief? "I... imagine that must be very difficult."

For a second Sebastian just sits staring at Klavier, cold rushing up to fracture his too-hot skin. _Difficult?_ What would _Klavier_ know about _difficult_? Klavier is _perfect_ , from his fly-away blond hair to the effortless ease with which he manages his cases to his rising-star band to his unbroken win record. All with a bare minimum of mentorship, while facing the same grudging grumpiness from most of the police force that Sebastian faces due to his age, and it's not _fair_.

Even against frauds and cheats, Klavier manages to win, to be the golden prosecutor.

A simple murder investigation, and Sebastian can't even manage to get justice for the victim when left to his own devices.

"Perhaps..." Klavier's right hand drums against the table, a syncopated rhythm. "I could take you out for a drink tonight? Drown your miseries?"

"No." Sebastian's voice is harder than he intended it to be, all his muscles feeling too tight and tense, and he sets the tissue box down on his desk with mechanical precision. "No, thank you."

"As you like." Klavier straightens, taking a step back. "I just—"

"I have _work_ to do, Prosecutor Gavin." He tries to find the cool, distant tone that Edgeworth uses, but Sebastian can hear the banked fury and trembling pain that colors his voice instead. Hearing it doesn't give him any better idea what to do to make it go away, and words keep spilling out without Sebastian telling his mouth to continue. "I have _work_ to do. _Real_ work, investigating the crime scene, talking to witnesses, finding a suspect. I don't have time for _franchising_ right now."

"Fraternizing." A muscle jumps in Klavier's left cheek, and his lips are pressed together. "The word you want is _fraternizing_ , and I will of course leave you to your work. Sorry if my existence interrupted something more important."

Turning on his heel, Klavier stalks from Sebastian's office, his boots making soft thuds against the carpet. He doesn't slam the door; he shuts it very carefully, making no more noise than necessary.

"Klavier..." Too late Sebastian takes a handful of faltering steps toward the door, knowing that Klavier is already out of earshot. Even if he weren't, there's no reason for Klavier to want to talk to him, not when Sebastian just intentionally raked claws across a known sore spot.

How many times have they heard detectives and senior prosecutors sneering that Klavier isn't fit to be a part of the office, too distracted by his work in the Gavinners to properly focus his time and energy? How many times has Klavier's number-one hit come on the radio only to be quietly mocked by everyone else in the break room, to the point where if Klavier is there when the opening bars play he changes the station?

They're both too young, everyone says. They're children playing at being adults, but they don't have the discipline to do what needs to be done. Surely there was some kind of underhanded deal involved in their passing the bar so young—Sebastian was surely helped by his father, Klavier by his brother and the labyrinthine mess that is the European legal system.

No one seems to want to assume that they've just _worked_ at it. That they've dedicated time and effort to getting where they are. That they're _trying_ , really trying, and it has been harder for Sebastian since Edgeworth left, harder for Klavier the more popular the Gavinners become.

And now Sebastian threw the same words everyone else uses to differentiate themselves from Klavier in his friend's face. _Real_ work, prosecutor's work, never mind that Sebastian knows Klavier pulls ludicrous hours some days to succeed in both his careers.

Dropping down in his chair, Sebastian buries his head in his hands and starts sobbing again. He is such an _idiot_. Why is everything so _hard_ for him? Why can't he manage at least _one_ job? Why can't he even manage to be a decent friend to anyone?

Prosecutor Edgeworth is going to be so disappointed in him.

Sebastian is crying harder, bent almost double, his breath gasping sobs that doesn't seem to do anything to calm the fire burning in his chest. Everything's ruined. He can't handle it, just like his father said, and—

"Yep, this is about what I was expecting to find." Kay sighs.

Lifting his head, Sebastian tries to blink his vision back into focus. "K-Kay? What—how—"

"That's for me to know and you to find out." Kay has settled herself on the edge of Sebastian's desk, her legs kicking in front of her. The door to his office is still closed, as is his fourth-floor window. Sebastian knows better than to ask how she got past security and into his office, though. Or at least knows enough at this point to realize that she won't answer.

Offering him a smile that is far more hesitant than her usual one, Kay kicks her feet in an idle pattern. "Rough day, huh?"

Sebastian draws a shuddering breath, considers what he could say, and eventually ends up just nodding.

"I saw. On the news." Kay nibbles at one of her nails.

Closing his eyes, Sebastian wishes he could sink through his chair and disappear. She already knows. Of _course_ she already knows. Kay is almost equal in competence to most of the detectives Sebastian has worked with.

"It's all right." A hand reaches out, pats him awkwardly on the elbow.

"No, it's not." Despite his best efforts, Sebastian can't suppress either a sniffle or a slight flinch. "I'm a failure."

"No, you're not." Kay frowns at him. "You lost one trial. That doesn't make you a failure."

"Last I checked lost was symbologist with failing." Crossing his arms in front of his chest, Sebastian tries to ignore how sulky he sounds.

"Lost is not synonymous with failure." Kay's index finger stretches out, very gently poking him between the eyebrows. "If someone came up to you and said they _failed_ their wallet, that give you a much different impression than they _lost_ their wallet, yeah?"

"It _is_ failure though, Kay." Melting down into his chair, all the energy seeming to drain from him as he studies the young woman, Sebastian sighs. "Prosecutor Edgeworth trusted me to be a good prosecutor, and I've quite simply failed. I can't do it alone. I can't be like him. Stubborn and certain and always right."

"I doubt he's always right." Kay continues to frown, but it's a thoughtful, considering expression rather than an aggressive one. "Even my Daddy wasn't always right, and he was an amazing prosecutor. The trial... do you think that the defendant was guilty?"

Sebastian thinks back over the last three days, trying to sort through the anxiety and agonizing sense of defeat to find the facts. The evidence. The testimonies. The forensic reports. Does he think that Ms. Chovy killed her step-brother? Is he still convinced that the young woman is a murderer, rather than just a liar?

"If you're really convinced the defendant is guilty..." Kay's right leg stops, her shoe pressed tight to the leg of his desk; her left continues to kick, though it's in a steady, tense rhythm now, the drums of war. "Then we'll go after her. I know you can't try her again, the whole double jeopardy thing, but we'll find something else. We'll find evidence and let everyone know. We'll make it right, even if it means going above and beyond the law, but we'll make it _right_."

"Kay..." Sebastian swallows, studying the young woman, his throat tight and tense for a different reason now. She would do it, he thinks. If he is certain that a failure of justice has occurred, she will swoop in, the Yatagarasu bringing the heaven's judgment down on those who would twist the legal system, and she will make it _right_. "I wouldn't ask you to do that."

"You wouldn't have to ask." Kay's whole body is still, now, the tense, waiting stillness of a predator searching for the prey's scent. "My father died trying to find a way to get true justice. Badd's in jail for the same reason. Prosecutor Edgeworth's been through hell and back. _You've_ put up with so much from your father... I'm not going to let it all be in vain. I won't."

"It isn't. It hasn't been. Even if we l-lose every once in a while... even if we fail..." His baton has somehow ended up in his hands, and Sebastian slides his fingers along the cool, slick metal. "We're going to keep the justice system running, just like Prosecutor Edgeworth wants. Keep it focused on true justice."

"That's our goal." Kay grins, a bright flash of her usual smile. "So, is it time for the Yatagarasu to go hunting?"

"I..." Sebastian reviews the facts once more before sighing. "No. I don't think it is. At least, not against Ms. Chovy. The defense was right. She couldn't be the killer."

"All right." Kay nods. "So what do we need to do to help you catch the real killer?"

"We—this isn't your job, Ms. Faraday." Sitting up in his chair, Sebastian tries (and, he suspects, fails) to look poised and in control of the situation. "I'll be returning to the crime scene, to see what I might have missed. I'll also be going over the evidence again. I will find the true killer."

"Good. _That's_ the spirit." Kay's fist connects ever-so-gently with his shoulder. "It's not the end of the world if someone innocent gets off, you know. It's only if the bad guys are going to get away that you really need to panic."

"I'm fairly certain panic isn't terribly helpful, actually." Sebastian looks down at his hands, at the baton still cradled between them. "Panic makes you rather useless. Has you saying things you can't take back."

"Says who?" Kay arches one elegant eyebrow. "An apology will often go a really long way. Though you didn't say anything irredeemable to me."

"Prosecutor Gavin was here shortly before you." Sliding his baton back into its holster in his jacket, Sebastian winces at the memory. "I... was rather rude to him."

"Gavin..." Kay crosses her arms in front of her chest, thinking. "That's the pretty blond airhead, right?"

"He's _not_." Leaning forward, Sebastian stares earnestly up into Kay's eyes. "He's not an airhead. He's _smart_ , Kay, he's so much smarter than me, and he's got a perfect record still, he beat _Phoenix Wright_ , one of the best defense attorneys of our time, proved that he was using forged evidence, and... and he's been trying to be my friend, despite being... better than me in every way. _He's_ the type of person who should be Prosecutor Edgeworth's protege, not me."

"Wow." Kay blinks. "Sebastian, that's probably the most impressive issues-to-words ratio I've ever heard. Though I've also got to congratulate you on not getting a single word wrong."

"I... um..." Sebastian can feel himself blushing, and he offers Kay a hesitant smile. "Not one?"

"Not one." Kay leans closer. "Let me try to unpack everything else in that little speech, though. For starters, I doubt he's smarter than you."

Sebastian drops his gaze to the floor, his chin tight to his chest. "He's the same age as me and he speaks two languages _plus_ he passed the bar without any fiddling from his family _plus_ he writes platinum songs in his free time _plus_ he's got a spotless record."

"None of that means he's smarter than you." Kay holds up one finger. "First, languages are something some people are good at and some aren't, and usually you learn them if you need them. If you're living in a country with a different primary language or have a lot of friends who speak a different language, that sort of thing."

"Well..." Sebastian considers her words. "I suppose he _did_ live in Germany for a while."

"See? Not a sign of smarts, just different life paths." Kay holds up a second finger. "Two, your father didn't pass the bar for you. _You passed on your own._ Edgeworth looked into it for you, remember?"

"But everyone says—"

"Everyone can say that the moon's an elaborate hoax projected up into the sky, doesn't make it true." Reaching out with her counting hand, Kay pokes him between the eyebrows. "Edgeworth said you passed on your own. You trust him, right?"

"I do." Sebastian bites his bottom lip, to keep any of the doubt from spilling out. He will not doubt Edgeworth unless he is given reason to.

"For three..." Kay slides off the desk, onto her feet. "There're all sorts of different kinds of smarts. And you've got the book smarts to pass the bar, and maybe this guy has more book smarts and maybe he doesn't, but it doesn't _matter_."

Sebastian blinks. "Of course it—"

"No, it doesn't. It's not supposed to be a _competition_ , Sebastian." Crossing her arms in front of her chest again, Kay gives him an exasperated eye roll. "Edgeworth thinks you're worthy of his time and commitment. He thinks you'll be a good prosecutor. _That's_ all that matters. If Gavin is a good prosecutor too, then great! You work together. Because you're supposed to be on the same team."

"Oh." The word is spoken softly, quietly, and Sebastian stares up at Kay with wide eyes.

"Yeah." Moving slowly, giving him time to pull away—they are all so _good_ about that, about touching him but also _not_ touching him if it looks like touch will be too much—Kay wraps her arms around him in a gentle hug. "You're one of us, Sebastian. You're our friend and we trust you and Edgeworth wants you on his team, and your win record has nothing to do with any of that. Focus on getting the right person because that's _justice_ , not because you think you need to in order to be _worthy_ of anything. Okay?"

Resting his head on Kay's shoulder, Sebastian draws a slow, deep breath, breathing in her scent. Her scarf is just slightly damp, and Sebastian realizes it must have been raining when she was outside. That she was in the rain _for_ him, to _comfort_ him when she realized he had lost, not to chastise him or condemn him for failure. "I think I've been a bit of an idiot today, Kay."

"No more than usual." Pulling back, Kay grins up at him. "No more than any of the rest of us have been. But if you've had enough time to cry, let's go through your notes and figure out who our next suspect should be, yeah?"

"I..." Sebastian hesitates. "Is it all right? For me to rely on you like that? Shouldn't I be able to find the suspect on my own, without having to reach out to others for help?"

Kay's knuckles rap against his chin. "Justice is a team sport. There's a reason my dad had three people in the Yatagarasu, you know. It's harder to screw up when you've got people watching your back. Plus Prosecutor Edgeworth has a whole bunch of people who help him with his theories—me, Gummy, Agent Lang, his sister, that science-obsessed girl. You'd just be following in his footsteps if you were to reach out for a helping hand."

"You don't..." Sebastian draws a shuddering breath. "You don't think he'd be angry at me? Or disappointed in me? Prosecutor Edgeworth, I mean."

"I don't think he'll be disappointed at all." Kay grins again. "After all, it's not like _he_ has a perfect win record, either."

"He..." Sebastian blinks. "He doesn't?"

"Not by a long shot." Kay pats him on the shoulder. "Look into his record sometime. It's really fascinating."

"I've been meaning to." Sebastian sighs. "I've just been so _busy_... but I'll do it. Once I've finally finished this case properly."

"I can help you." Turning to the desk, Kay begins rifling through the half-organized chaos. "So, where's the file? What can I do to help?"

"It's here." Sebastian pulls the file from his bag, handing it to Kay. "And... if you don't mind... while you take a look... could I take a quick stroll? I... think I owe somebody an apology."

"Go for it." Kay already has her nose buried in the file. "It'll take me a few minutes to get caught up and program Little Thief, anyway."

Slipping out of his office, closing the door behind him so that hopefully no one will come in and assume that Kay is a thief—well, an _active_ thief, in the process of stealing something she shouldn't—Sebastian makes his way toward the stairs.

He used to use the elevator more often. Before he met Edgeworth, any time he had to visit his father he would simply climb in the elevator and press the button for the top floor and wait impatiently while the machinery did its work. Edgeworth seems to have an aversion to elevators, though, despite his office being on the twelfth floor, and so Sebastian has been seeing much more of the stairs than usual. It's probably good for him, and in the interest of not huffing and puffing like a dying train when following Edgeworth up and down the stairs, Sebastian has continued to use them even in Edgeworth's absence.

Klavier's office is two floors above his, though it looks remarkably similar to Sebastian's. Rookie prosecutors are given the smaller, less desirable offices, at least until they have proven themselves.

Pausing outside the door, Sebastian squeezes his eyes shut, willing them not to tear, and knocks frantically for a count of three before forcing himself to stop.

"Come in." Klavier's voice is crisp and clear, his German accent almost completely erased.

Sebastian knows that takes an effort of will still, that Klavier tries his hardest to sound like everyone else only when he has been facing ostracization, and his chest aches a little at the thought that _he_ is responsible for this.

Easing the door open, Sebastian slips into Klavier's office. Though he's only had the office for a little over two months, Klavier almost immediately set about personalizing it, hanging posters and adjusting the location of the furniture. A small instrument collection, including three guitars, has taken up one corner of the office, and Sebastian has walked in multiple times to find Klavier deep in thought while his fingers idly pick out chords.

Klavier isn't toying with one of his instruments right now, though. He is at his desk, bent over his work, and he studies Sebastian with wary eyes as Sebastian closes the door behind him. "Prosecutor DeBeste. Can I help you?"

Sebastian winces. How long has it been since Klavier called him by his title? Klavier is prone to handing out nicknames and seems to have a general dislike of formality unless it's absolutely necessary. "I... um..."

Klavier's blue eyes seem to bore into him harder with each stutter.

"I just wanted..." Sebastian draws his baton from in his jacket again, finding comfort in letting his fingers roam over it. "I wanted to apologize. For the way I snapped at you. I shouldn't have."

Some of the tension falls from Klavier's shoulders, and he leans back in his chair. "Apology accepted. I'm sorry about whatever I did to upset you. I was just trying to be helpful."

"I know." Sebastian nods. "I appreciate it. I just... it's really... upsetting to me. Losing a case."

Some of the tension returns to Klavier's shoulders, though he forces a smile. "No one likes to lose, H—... Sebastian."

"It's not just about winning and losing." Sebastian chews on his bottom lip for a moment. "Though... a part of it is. It hurt hearing _you_ talk about it because you _haven't_ lost. Because it seems like you're _never_ going to lose. Like... like you're perfect."

"Perfect?" Klavier points at himself, and his grin becomes more honest. "Me? Ach, the only thing perfect about me is my body, Herr Erste."

"There's a lot more to you than just pretty hair and nice eyes." Running a hand through his hair, Sebastian turns away from Klavier, not quite able to meet his eyes. "You're musically talented. You're smart. You've been doing fantastically in court. I was... a bit jealous of you, I suppose."

Klavier sits blinking at his desk, his smile slowly fading. "Of _me_? But you have done so much more, Sebastian. You have helped bring about an end to the corruption in the P.I.C.—if it had not been for you, Prosecutor Edgeworth would not have been able to do all that he did."

Sebastian blinks. "You and the Wright case—"

Shaking his head, Klavier waves a hand in dismissal. "A small thing, compared to what you did. You have helped to fundamentally change how the Prosecutor's Office works—to make it more just. _And_ you are Prosecutor Edgeworth's chosen protege."

There is a definite note of jealousy in Klavier's voice, and Sebastian remembers the way Klavier spoke of Edgeworth when they first met. "I... I think he's just helping me because he feels sorry for me. Because of what happened with my father."

Narrowing his eyes, Klavier shakes his head. "You have worked with Prosecutor Edgeworth for several months now. Closely. He is not one to suffer fools. If he keeps you under his wing, it is because he thinks you belong there."

"I'm trying to be worthy of it. Of him." Sebastian's breath shudders, and he hugs his arms to his chest, trying hard not to cry again. "But when something happens like today... I feel like I'm not."

Klavier gives a slow, thoughtful nod. "Was the defendant guilty?"

"No." Sebastian whispers the word with a shake of his head. "I don't think they were."

"Then it was right that you lose. It is not justice to see an innocent sent to prison, _ja_?"

" _Ja_." Sighing, Sebastian allows his head to hand down on his neck, sheepish. "I know that. I just need to be better at choosing my suspects, I guess."

"We all need to be careful in who we accuse." Standing in one graceful motion, Klavier rounds his desk, approaching Sebastian, his expression equal parts earnest and hesitant. "We must be cautious to see that justice is not bent and distorted to our ends. But we are all only human. I am certain I will make a mistake, and then you can offer to buy me a drink to drown my sorrows. Because turnabout is fair play in love and the courtroom."

Sebastian laughs, though he finds his cheeks heating a bit, tears teasing at his eyes again. "Does that mean... are things all right between us? We're still... friends?"

"If you would like. I do not have so many friends here that I can carelessly toss one aside, but more than that... I very much like having you as a friend, Herr Erste." Klavier shoves his hands into his back pockets. "And would like that to continue."

"Me too." Sebastian lets out a shuddering breath, blinking, and despite his best efforts a stray tear or three slide free.

"So no more lyricless laments." Klavier reaches out—also slowly, gently—and brushes the tears from Sebastian's face. "There is no need for it. We will see justice done, still. And if there is anything I can do help with that..."

"Would you like to?" Sebastian forces himself to make the offer. They are a team, Kay says, and Sebastian will not doubt that. "I have an... ally in my office, and we were going to go through and see who else might be a good suspect..."

"Nothing would make me happier than to assist you." A full grin appears on Klavier's face, and he grabs Sebastian's hand, leading him to the door.

Sebastian shakes himself free when they're in the hallway, taking point, and he, Kay, and Klavier spend the afternoon and most of the evening assembling a much better case against Kerel's biological father than the one Sebastian had crafted against his step-sister.

 _You'll get your justice_ , Sebastian silently promises the dead man staring up at him from the autopsy report. _I promise_.

He doesn't think he will sleep well that night, his father's disparaging, disappointed voice keeping him awake, but he is dead to the world when Edgeworth calls him at a quarter to midnight.

"I heard about your case today." There is no preamble, no lead-up, just that calm, cool voice announcing to an only semi-conscious Sebastian that his last lingering fear has come to pass. "I wanted to call and tell you I'm proud of you, for the way you handled it."

"I... but..." Sebastian stares at the phone.

"Losing the first time is very hard." He can picture Edgeworth, finger tapping against his arm. "But it's something that happens to all of us, unless we're willing to twist justice into a game-board for our own entertainment and egos. You didn't. That takes strength. I'm proud of you."

Sebastian continues to stare straight ahead at his bedroom wall, not quite believing the words.

"Do you need anything that I can provide?" Edgeworth's tone is still clipped and precise. "Have any theories you need to run by me, or any questions about what forensics personnel or detectives to use for specific tasks?"

"N-no, sir." Sebastian curls up in bed, the phone cradled close. "And... thank you."

"You're welcome." Edgeworth pauses. "Given the time difference, I don't want to keep you for longer, but if you—or Kay or Gumshoe or any of the others—need me, you will call."

It's an order, not a request, and Sebastian smiles. "We'll call."

"Very well. _Guten Abend_ then, Prosecutor DeBeste. I'll see you as soon as I'm back in the country."

Sebastian barely has time to stammer out his own good evening before the phone cuts to a dial tone, and he settles it back on the nightstand, still not convinced he hasn't been dreaming.

After that, Sebastian sleeps well and deeply, and when the _guilty_ verdict is read out three days later, he loses no time contacting Klavier and Kay so that they can celebrate together.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** This chapter heavily features the death penalty—fair warning for anyone who needs it. For the process I combined Japanese practices, several of which are referenced in the games, with American ones (since the translation has the setting in California), and added a few tweaks that I feel fit the general dystopian setting of the games. I'm happy to discuss it further with anyone who's interested.

3.

Sebastian attends his first execution eighteen months after he passes the bar.

The call telling him when the execution will be comes thirty-six hours before the event, while he's still trying to figure out his schedule for the day. He answers the phone mechanically, only looking at the caller ID once the handset is cradled to his head. He blinks, doing a double-take, surprised to see that the call is from the nearest high-security prison.

"This is Officer Andwaite." The male voice on the other end of the line is crisply efficient. "Am I speaking to Prosecutor Sebastian DeBeste?"

"Ah, yes, this is he." Sitting up a bit straighter, Sebastian tries and fails to think of a recent case that might involve the prison.

"I'm just calling to inform you that the Minister of Justice signed the order of execution for Charles Broil." The man's tone doesn't change at all, as though he were simply reporting on the weather, not on the impending death of one of the people in his care. "The execution will be carried out Tuesday, at 9 PM. Do you know if you'll be attending, sir?"

"If I'll..." Sebastian stares straight ahead, at a wall that he's fairly certain had a picture hanging on it five minutes ago but that now seems to be an undulating veil of red. "I... how soon do I have to let you know?"

"If you could let us know by 5 PM tomorrow, it would be appreciated. That way we can make sure everyone has chairs. It's always a mess, having to add chairs at the last minute." For the first time a hint of emotion enters the man's voice, and Sebastian is distracted from his numb contemplation at least enough to feel a flash of sympathy for whatever poor soul made the mistake of showing up when they didn't have a chair prepared. "Do you have any other questions, sir?"

Many. More questions than answers, it seems, even after so long has passed, but they aren't questions that Andwaite can help him with. "No, that will be all. Thank you."

"You're welcome, sir. Have a nice day."

And with a click and the sudden humming of a dial tone, Sebastian is once more alone in his office.

Charles Broil. How long had he been a prosecutor when that case crossed his desk? Four months? Something like that, yes. It had been shortly after he lost his first case, when he was still desperate to prove himself.

Not that much has changed since then. He still feels like he has to prove himself anew each case, as though his record is something friable and fragile that could disappear in a puff of smoke. He still hates failing, though the gut-wrenching certainty that failure will equal censure and abandonment has at least faded.

Some things _have_ changed, though. His office is better, now, bigger and with a window that actually shows a view of the outdoors, even if that view is the sheer gray face of the neighboring building. He fits in better with the other prosecutors, the questions asking how his day are having shifted from sneering accusations to the usual bored inquiries of those who work in close proximity.

A knock at his door, syncopated and cheerful, and Sebastian turns, automatically smiling because he knows who it will be.

" _Hallo_ , Herr Erste." Klavier lounges in the doorway. "Sorry to bother you at this ungodly time of day, but I hear tell the Cervantes file still has residence on your shelves, and I have need of it."

"Ah, right." Clambering to his feet, Sebastian heads toward his steadily-expanding shelf of closed case files. "You think the Quilote case might be connected to it?"

"Someone has learned to keep their ears open and pick up on office rumor. I am impressed." As soon as he has his hands on the file Klavier opens it, paging through to the autopsy report. He hums to himself for a moment before snapping the file closed. "Thank you. I'll make sure to return this as soon as I'm done with it."

"No problem." Drifting back to his desk, Sebastian finds that his voice sounds distant, his feet feeling disconnected from the rest of him. Strange, how everything continues on as normal even when things are decidedly _not_. "I trust you."

"That is high praise, coming from you." Klavier pauses with his hand on the door, then pulls the door shut and follows Sebastian to his desk, settling one hip on a corner and watching Sebastian with a curious gaze. "Has something happened, Sebastian?"

For a moment Sebastian considers shaking his head, trying to pass off his distraction as just difficulty waking up this morning. This is something that he knew would happen, one day, and he shouldn't have any trouble handling it.

On the other hand... he wants to talk to _someone_ about it, and Edgeworth is in Europe again briefly. "Do you remember the Broil case?"

Klavier thinks for a moment, file tapping against his thigh. Whatever song he's currently working on seems to be in three-four time, at least from the rhythm that's currently being expressed. Sebastian will have to ask to see it, later. After a handful of seconds understanding dawns, and Klavier's spine straightens. "The arson case? From over a year ago?"

Sebastian nods.

"Has something come up about it?" Klavier frowns. "From what I remember, it was open-and-shut. All the evidence was on your side, and he confessed on the stand."

"It was. He set the fire, with the intent to kill his parents, and ended up killing five other people, as well." Sebastian's voice trembles just a little as he forces out the next words. "He's going to be hung tomorrow. They called me this morning, to see if I want to... attend the proceedings, I suppose. I need to get back to them as soon as I know, so they can have a chair waiting for me."

"A chair waiting for you..." Klavier repeats the words, his accent thickening. It makes Sebastian feel slightly better, at least, that he isn't the only one who finds his mind sticking on that small point. "And... are you going to attend?"

"I don't know." Sebastian stares down at the files on his desk. "I... wasn't expecting to have to think about this so soon."

"It's very fast. Fourteen months from sentencing to execution." The folder is still now in Klavier's hands, his whole body tense.

"It is." Sebastian shrugs. "Not common, but not unheard of, either. There wasn't much for him to appeal on, and the execution has to be carried out within six months of the ending of the final appeal."

Sebastian had been very meticulous with this particular case, coming so soon on the heels of the Chovey fiasco. All of his _i'_ s had been dotted, all of his _t_ 's crossed, everything orchestrated to the best of his human ability, and apparently it worked.

Though this had been a very simple case, a not-very-bright criminal lashing out in premeditated rage. There had been none of the complicated extenuating circumstances that have gifted appeals to other death row inmates. No other family members involved in the proceedings, so that someone can claim a conflict of interest. No deep-set corruption being unearthed. No co-conspirators desperately trying to cover their own tracks, muddying the waters further in their flailing.

"Will you go?" Sebastian raises his gaze from where it had drifted to meet Klavier's eyes. "You've had your first capital offense, right?"

" _Ja_." Klavier shifts uneasily on his perch. "The woman who was taking in runaways and then killing them when they misbehaved."

Sebastian nods, biting his bottom lip for a moment. It has been eight months since Klavier tried that case. It had taken Klavier two and a half weeks to find a suspect, and the trial had dragged on for three grueling days during which Klavier didn't sleep and Kay and Sebastian got precious little, but in the end they persevered. "Do you know what the status on that one is?"

A shrug of Klavier's shoulders, as though it doesn't matter, but he turns his head away, and his blue eyes are storm-dark. "Her defense ordered a third pysch profile, and just like the others the conclusion was that she is sane enough to have known what she was doing and pay the price for her crimes."

"That's what they're doing." Sebastian sounds uncertain, even to his own ears. Hesitant. Pleading. _Needing_ , but at least Klavier understands why without having to be told. He was there, for Blaize's trial. "They're paying for their crimes."

"They took lives. For selfish reasons—for power, for money, for control." Klavier frowns down at the beige carpet. "It is only fitting, isn't it? That they pay for the crime of taking a life with their own life."

That's the general theory, at least. There are some who protest it—Sebastian has seen them, occasionally, in front of the courthouse or the prosecutor's office or the prison—but most believe premeditated murder, especially multiple murders, deserves the death penalty. He has even seen counter-protests to the protesters, usually a core of family from the victims surrounded by those who answer their call, and who is he to pick sides in the debate?

His job is just to find the truth, no matter how deeply buried or how painful. If the law and society says that the proper punishment for murder is death... and, really, who is he to say that imprisonment would be better?

Does he think prison could possibly make his father into a better person? Does he think that a life in jail will be better for Blaize DeBeste than a noose around his neck? Does he truly think it is _safe_ , his father the master manipulator behind bars?

His father is supposed to be the one in the trap, but it is far too easy for Sebastian to imagine the guards and the other prisoners being drawn into his father's plans, one by one by one...

"I'll go with you." Klavier stands, reaching out to very gently touch Sebastian's shoulder. "If you decide you want to go, tell me, and I'll go with you."

Sebastian raises startled eyes to study his friend. "Do you think that's allowed? And... are you sure that you'd want to?"

"I'm a prosecutor. I don't see any reason they wouldn't allow me to attend with you. As for whether I want to go or not..." Klavier shrugs. " _Want_ is possibly a bit too strong a word, but I decided some time ago that I would attend at least my first execution. It seems... appropriate, to be there when everything ends. Perhaps I will change my mind after this. Or maybe I won't. We shall see."

"Let me think about it." That is something that has changed over the last year, too, Sebastian supposes. He knows better than to make snap decisions unless he has to, though he thinks he knows already what he will decide.

"Certainly. Just let me know what you decide." Waving the file, Klavier backs toward the door. "I'll take this, then, and talk to you later. Good luck, _mein Freunde_."

Sebastian murmurs out his own goodbye and goes about his work for the day, but the question of what to do tomorrow continues to percolate in the back of his mind.

When lunch time comes around, he stays in his office, pulling out his cell phone and making a personal call.

"Faraday reporting for duty!" Kay's voice is clear and strong even over the phone—always unashamed, always certain, and Sebastian is lucky to have her as a friend.

"Hi, Kay. It's me." Sebastian hesitates. "That would be Sebastian. DeBeste. I don't know if there are any other Sebastians in your classes—"

"Not who pop up on my phone as the world's derpiest setter puppy learning to swim." The sound of wind whistling in the phone, and then background noises fade out, leaving Kay's voice even sharper. "Has something come up? Do you need me?"

"Just your adverb— _advice_." Sebastian fiddles with the buttons on his jacket with his free hand. He doesn't misspeak very often lately. It shows how much this is upsetting him, that he's doing it now. "One of my convictions is going to be executed tomorrow. I need to decide if I want to go."

"Oh. Wow." For just a moment Kay is silent. "That's a really heavy decision, huh?"

"It is. It's... conflicting. Part of me wants to say no, thank you, I don't want to go. I fight to _prevent_ deaths, not to cause them." Closing his eyes, Sebastian wills tears to stop pricking at them. "Part of me feels like I owe it to the victims and the convict both. To see justice through to the end. To know what it is that I'm fighting for when I recommend the death penalty."

"You don't owe them anything." Kay's voice is soft but still utterly certain. "You've already seen to justice, finding the killers and stopping them from hurting anyone else. If you want to go, that's fine. If you don't... it doesn't make you any less courageous or just, not wanting to watch someone die."

"I was also thinking..." Sebastian's breath shudders in his throat, too tight, too confined. "I will be going, when... when my father hangs. I can't _not_ go. So perhaps I should go now? So I'm... more prepared? So he can't blindside me with something? Except... that doesn't seem right to _this_ man. To use his death as just a—a _stepping stone_ to dealing with my own problems."

"Sebastian..." Kay's voice is all quiet compassion. "We both know you're better than that. You're not like your father. You're not trying to manipulate or use anyone."

"I'm trying not to. I'm trying to be a good man." He has found someone _better_ than his father to emulate, and people to walk at his side along the rutted, stumbling track of justice, but sometimes it still seems he can never move fast enough to completely escape his father's shadow. "I just... don't know what to do."

"I wish I could give you an answer." Kay sighs. "I wish there _was_ a clear and obvious answer. I don't think either choice is wrong, 'Bastion. I don't think you're bad if you go—it's going to happen, whether you're there or not, and it's happening because of what _he_ did, not anything you did. But I also don't think it's wrong if you don't want to go, if you want to just... be done with everything."

"I think..." Sebastian draws short, shallow breaths, and his eyes are burning harder now. Silly, really, and it's going to be _very_ hard to keep his composure at the execution if he's having this hard a time keeping it now. "I think I want to go. I want to see... everything. Start to finish."

"Okay." He can picture Kay nodding her agreement. "Is there anything you want me to do? Drive you there, or pick you up, or meet you at your house...?"

"Klavier's going to come with me. Because he's another prosecutor." Which Kay knows, having run into Klavier with Sebastian multiple times, and Sebastian can feel a blush touching his cheeks. "But... if you don't mind being available tomorrow evening... I don't know. We might need to go out for drinks, or watch a bad movie, or... something like that."

"You've got it, pal." Kay's voice sobers. "If you need to talk, at any time, you just call me. Got it?"

"Got it." Sebastian nods. "Thank you, Kay. You're wonderful."

"I know. _Ciao_ , and tell your semi-German buddy the same."

Kay hangs up before Sebastian manages to get a response in, but it doesn't really matter. All that needs to be said has been said.

He goes about his business for the remainder of the afternoon, filing requests, finalizing paperwork from his last trial. He keeps himself busy, focused, refusing to let what is to come interfere in what he needs to do right now.

At four thirty, he calls the prison, confirming that he and Prosecutor Klavier Gavin will both be in attendance at the execution. There are no questions asked about Klavier, as he had been afraid there would be.

"Two chairs, then." There is a certain grim satisfaction in Andwaite's voice, as though Sebastian has solved some great puzzle of the universe. "And will you be serving as the state witness, then, or would you like someone else to fill that role?"

"Right." Sebastian blinks. He knows there is a state witness—someone who signs that the medical examiner did their job, that the convicted is well and truly dead—but it hadn't occurred to him that it could be, well, _him_. On the other hand, if he will be there, there's no reason to make someone else come and serve in that capacity. "I'll do it."

"Excellent." The sound of rustling paper, and when he speaks again, Andwaite's tone is almost cheerful. "Anything else I can help you with, Prosecutor DeBeste?"

"No." Sebastian's voice sounds faint and strained. "No, thank you."

"Then we'll be seeing you tomorrow, Prosecutor. Have a good evening."

A click, and Sebastian is left alone with his own thoughts.

He tries not to let them dwell on what's to come. He tries to drown them out with music on the car ride home, with a movie that Kay lent him before bed, with work the next day. If he doesn't think about it, if he doesn't worry about what is to come, perhaps everything will just progress smoothly, with the clerical precision that Andwaite clearly expects it to have.

Sebastian drives himself and Klavier to the prison. Klavier offers to drive, but Sebastian likes the feel of the steering wheel in his hands, the feeling of control that it gives, and it _is_ his car.

"We _could_ take the hog." Klavier grins, though the expression doesn't quite touch his eyes. He is in his usual black pants and a black shirt similar to the ones he tends to wear in court, though the embroidery on this one is some kind of shiny black thread that shimmers against the matte black fabric.

"No, we couldn't." Sebastian shakes his head as he puts the car in gear. "Why you couldn't keep your car when you got that ridiculous bike—"

"She is a beautiful bike!" Mock outrage touches Klavier's voice. "And I do not need multiple conveyances when there is only one of me, now do I?"

"That depends on if you wish to take anyone _else_ with you when you go places."

"I can still take people with me." Klavier places a hand to his heart. "I am wounded that you do not trust me to think far enough ahead for that. I have a spare helmet that is always with the hog. Or is it riding so close behind me that you object to, Herr Erste?"

"It's the lack of rain and snow protection that I object to." Sebastian is smiling despite himself, though the expression fades as he thinks about it. Is it right, for them to laugh and joke like this given where they're going?

"We will be solemn and somber when we are there." Klavier's eyes have turned to the window, but he seems to be speaking directly to Sebastian's thoughts. "There's no harm in laughing here, where no one else can hear."

Sebastian nods slowly. "I suppose not."

Despite his acquiescing, the rest of the drive passes in silence save for the sound of the tires against the road and the occasional noise of other traffic. The walk across the parking lot is likewise completed in silence, and as they approach the prison guard Sebastian finds his steps faltering.

Klavier doesn't hesitate. His eyes flick to Sebastian, and he strides forward, head high, stance the easy relaxed posture of someone who is supposed to be there. Fishing in his pocket, he pulls out his prosecutor's badge. "Prosecutor Klavier Gavin and Prosecutor Sebastian DeBeste, here for the execution of prisoner Charles Broil."

The guard examines Klavier's badge slowly, thoroughly, and then turns to Sebastian.

Stepping forward, Sebastian holds out his jacket lapel where his badge is near-permanently affixed, allowing it to be examined.

Nodding, the guard turns to the door and inputs the security code for the day. "Down the hall and take the first right. Officer Huri will be standing outside the witness room and'll let you know what you need to do."

" _Danke_." Klavier gives the guard a smile and a wave as he heads down the corridor; Sebastian nods and follows after his taller, long-legged friend.

The officer standing outside the witness room is calm and brisk, explaining what will happen before he allows them access to their seats. The convicted will be brought down from his cell at the allotted time. All those who wished to say their goodbyes to him have already done so. Broil has declined to have a priest present, so no one will enter the witness room until after the execution has been completed, at which time Sebastian will be asked to confer with the medical personnel on duty to confirm that Broil is deceased and sign the state's notice of execution performed.

"Simple enough." Sebastian nods, trying to look as calm and unperturbed as the man before him.

"I also recommend not talking in the witness room. We've got family of the victims and family of the convicted as well as those involved with the case, and it always gets messy if there's a fight." Huri's hand pauses on the door handle. "Any other questions?"

Sebastian and Klavier both shake their heads, and are ushered into the witness room.

The front of the room is a pane of glass, looking out on the gallows. Dark gray chairs are arranged in two neat blocks. One side is almost full, and Sebastian stands frozen for a moment, studying the grim faces that are raised to watch him enter.

He recognizes some of them. He interviewed many of them, during the course of the investigation. These are the survivors, the people who lost loved ones in the fire. These are the people he fought so hard for, the ones he promised justice to.

(These people and the ghosts of the dead, and he studied those pictures, too, before they came here today. Pulled out the file, and he didn't need to read anything, but he looked at the pictures of the deceased that had been handed in by loved ones and compared them to the charred corpses in the autopsy reports and tried to convince himself that _yes_ , this is just, _yes_ , this is right.)

"Come." Klavier's accent is thick, but his hand doesn't tremble as he takes Sebastian's and leads him to two seats at the front of the witness room, just behind the glass.

Klavier drapes himself in his seat, an artful lounge that Sebastian knows takes effort to look effortless. His expression is blank, almost bored as he stares straight ahead, but he doesn't let go of Sebastian's hand, even once Sebastian is sitting rigidly next to him.

They don't have long to wait. They had both spent every spare second that they could at the prosecutor's office—working, stalling, it can sometimes be the same thing—and they have less than five minutes before the execution is to be carried out.

Broil walks into the room under his own power. He keeps his head high, defiant, and if he is ashamed of what he has done, afraid of what the consequences will be in the afterlife—if there _is_ an afterlife—it doesn't show. The guards lead him slowly in front of the window, allowing the witnesses full view of the convicted.

His eyes meet Sebastian's, and Sebastian sees recognition there. A frown etches itself deeply into Broil's face, and utter hatred pours from his eyes.

It is surprisingly easy to face. He thought it wouldn't be. He thought it would hurt, seeing that anger and hatred, but he has seen something similar on a visage he loved and respected far more, and from _this_ man it strikes him as almost silly.

So he meets Broil's eyes, evenly, and for the first time all day calm seems to come easily to him.

It is Broil who looks away, taking another step forward, and Sebastian realizes that the time they spent locked in silent communication must have been much smaller than it felt. Strange, how time can sometimes go too quickly and sometimes too slowly, but—

A disturbance, carried out in utter silence in the execution chamber, and Sebastian realizes that there must be some soundproofing between the two rooms. For the first time Broil is pulling against the guards, pointing through the observation window with manacled hands.

The guards confer for a few seconds, and then one shrugs, moving toward the door that connects the witness and the execution chambers.

Sebastian hears the crowd start stirring, whispering questions to each other. This shouldn't happen until after the execution, one of the guards entering the witness' room. What's going on?

"You." The guard opens the door just enough to allow his upper body entrance, and points at Klavier. "What's your name, son?"

Klavier straightens, congenial smile in place, but Sebastian knows him well enough to read the tension in the line of his shoulders. "Prosecutor Klavier Gavin. Is there a problem?"

"No. Just... Chaz says he knows someone who must be related to you, and wants to pass on a message. I know it's irregular, but... well... given the circumstances..."

 _Chaz_ , not Charles; a nickname, not an object's title, and there is something like sympathy in the guard's eyes as he glances from the convicted man to Klavier. Sebastian can feel his stomach turn over, tears pricking at his eyes, and he wills his breathing to stay steady.

After barely a second's hesitation Klavier stands, uncrossing his legs and levering himself up in a smooth motion. "I see no harm in hearing him out for a few seconds."

"Thank you." Relief shines from the guard's face, and he glances at the clock on the wall. "Two minutes to execution; we won't let this delay things, folks."

Scrambling to his feet, Sebastian follows Klavier into the execution room.

The temperature in this room is cooler than the witness' room. Perhaps because there are fewer people? Or because the guards want to keep it cool for the body?

"You." Broil addresses Klavier as soon as they're in the same room. "You're related to Gavin, aren't you?"

Klavier raises both eyebrows, his fingers hooked through his belt loops. "That is my surname, yes."

"Thought so." Broil sniffs. "You look just like him, though he wouldn't be caught dead in a circus outfit like that or with his hair looking like some teen's wet dream."

For a moment Klavier glowers; then he schools his expression to calm, though his blue eyes stay hard and sharp.

"Tell Kristoph." Broil's tongue flicks out over his lips, and he eyes the two guards. "Tell him if there's such a thing as ghosts, I'm going to haunt his ass forever over this."

Sebastian frowns. Kristoph Gavin wasn't the defense on the case—Sebastian still hasn't had the pleasure of meeting Klavier's brother, though Klavier talks about him frequently.

Klavier reaches up with his right hand, fluffing his hair artfully. "Kristoph refused to defend you, I take it?"

"Said I didn't have enough money or intelligence." Broil practically spits the words, though he stays still between his guards, not causing trouble.

Klavier opens his mouth, hesitates, and then sighs. "You are about to die, Mr. Broil. So I will merely say that no amount of money or intelligence in the world can make you not guilty of a crime that you committed."

Broil laughs, a harsh, chilling sound. "You haven't been watching the news very well then, kid. Anything's possible in this Dark Age of the Law."

"You are guilty of premeditated murder, Mr. Broil." Sebastian speaks before Klavier has to. "No defense attorney in the world could have changed that, and I would not have stopped until I found the truth."

For a long, long second Broil just stares at him again. Then the man sighs. "Maybe. Tenacious, stubborn kids. Doesn't matter, though. That's all I wanted to say."

Broil turns his head to the gallows.

Klavier and Sebastian return to their seats.

The execution is remarkably quick. The executioner—masked, though he wears the uniform of the prison guards—situates Broil on the gallows. The guards hold his arms. The noose is checked. The noose is placed around Broil's throat and tightened until the executioner is satisfied. The officers release Broil's arms and walk off the gallows.

The executioner throws the lever.

Broil falls.

There is no sound. They don't hear the _crack_ of a breaking neck, though Sebastian is certain it happens. There are no sounds from Broil as he spasms, three whole-body shudders, and Sebastian has an abrupt, visceral understanding of all the euphemisms for hanging that involve _dancing_.

He doesn't know if he takes Klavier's hand, or if Klavier takes his hand, but their fingers are clasped tight together, and Sebastian doesn't want to let go.

Klavier keeps hold of his hand, follows him as Sebastian is led by a guard into the execution chamber once Broil's body has been cut down. The medical examiner checks for a pulse at neck and wrist and groin; he listens to the chest; he confirms the man's death.

Sebastian could have told him that. There is a certain _look_ that corpses have about the eyes—a defenseless look, that Sebastian has become far too familiar with during his time as a prosecutor—and Broil's eyes have that. There is a way these things are done, though, and Sebastian waits for the medical examiner's confirmation before signing off that Broil's execution was completed as ordered.

Once that is done, he and Klavier retreat as quickly as they can to the parking lot.

They don't head immediately for the car. They stand in the darkness, the prison a glowing beacon at their back, and study the washed-out stars still vying to be seen. One of them has taken the other's hand again, and Sebastian holds it tight.

The first sob catches him off guard, and he raises his free hand to touch his chest in surprise. Why is he crying _now_? Now that everything is _done_ , now that he knows exactly what to expect at his father's execution—

The next few sobs are harder, rock his whole frame, and Sebastian suddenly can't see anything, his eyes flooded with tears.

Klavier's arms wrap around him, hold him in a gentle embrace, and Sebastian buries his head on Klavier's shoulder, letting the sobs work their way through him. This isn't the first time Klavier has seen him cry; it won't be the last; and Sebastian knows that he can trust Klavier to understand that this doesn't mean he's weak.

When the tears have run their course, Sebastian spends a few extra seconds just leaning against Klavier, his breath ragged in his ears.

"I think..." Klavier speaks quietly, his head tilted up, his eyes still locked on the sky. "Perhaps it is time for a bit of a change in my wardrobe."

Lifting his head, Sebastian tries to wipe the evidence of tears away. "Don't let what he said about your clothes bother you."

"It isn't what he said. It's..." Klavier plucks at his cowboy shirt. "This is a good outfit for investigating, for performing, and because the courtroom is another performance I thought... but it is not quite the same. And though I am not Kristoph, I can show a proper... respect for the proceedings. I don't suppose you know a good tailor I could go to for jackets?"

"I suppose you probably want them in purple, huh?" Sniffling, Sebastian waits for Klavier's sheepish smile before smiling in turn. "I know someone. I'll give you their number. Tomorrow, though. Tonight... would you like to come to my house, share a drink with Kay and I?"

Klavier doesn't hesitate a moment before nodding, and they head to Sebastian's car together, hand in hand, the night pressing in dark around them.


	4. Chapter 4

4.

Sebastian has only a vague idea how he ended up climbing through a heating duct, but he's entirely certain it's Kay Faraday's fault.

His jacket snags on something, bringing Sebastian up short. A little gentle tugging, an attempt to shimmy forward, just causes the fabric to give a threatening _creak_ sound. Staying perfectly still, Sebastian gives a low moan of mixed frustration and exasperation.

"What was that?" Kay is in front of him, her boots and skirt illuminated by the tiny flashlight she practically glued to his wrist before they began this mission. "Something happen?"

"I'm _stuck_." Sebastian sighs.

"You are not stuck." Kay huffs out a breath. "If I got my thighs through there, you can get your twenty-one-year-old skinny belly through."

"You may have gotten through, but I am definitely hung up on something." Another attempt at shuffling forward results in a similar threatening noise. "If I keep going, I'm ninety-eight percent certain my jacket won't."

"Oh, you got caught on a nail?" Kay's legs have stopped moving forward, at least. Sebastian had been half-afraid she'd abandon him if he couldn't keep up. "Just back up and try again, keeping your body angled away from that section as much as you can."

Kay's legs move closer to his face and then explode forward again, presumably her attempt at demonstrating what she wants him to do.

Clenching his teeth around another sigh, refusing to let Kay get the better of him, Sebastian wiggles his way carefully backward and then tries easing forward again.

This time he somehow manages to shimmy his way past the difficult patch, and his exhalation of relief must be loud enough for Kay to hear, because she begins moving again. Her voice is smug and self-assured when she speaks. "See? Told you that you weren't stuck."

"Well, I _was_ stuck, but you're right, it was rather easier to _un_ stick myself than I had been ascertaining— _assuming_." Sebastian pauses, retreating in an ungainly wiggle as Kay's leg shoot backward, presumably to give her some extra momentum for a particularly tight spot. "I do hope that you're enjoying yourself, Kay Faraday, because this is absolutely ridiculous."

"He _challenged_ me." Steel lines Kay's words, and Sebastian begins crawling forward again once he's fairly certain his likelihood of getting kicked in the face is approaching zero. "He said security at the venue was tight, and that I needed to accept the ticket if I wanted to see the show."

"Security _is_ tight." Are they angling upward? Sebastian can't tell anymore. What floor of the building are they on? Have they ended up in the backstage area or are they approaching the concert seating? Kay had shown him her plans on Little Thief prior to beginning her self-professed mission, but in his attempts to keep up with her Sebastian has apparently lost track of exactly where they are. "And I have tickets for both you and I right here in my pocket. We can come out of the duct-work at any time we want and have full backstage access to—"

"No." Kay speaks firmly. "It's the principle of the thing. He said I can't get in; he made you pay for those ridiculous little slips of paper, didn't he?"

"Well..." Sebastian hesitates. "It really wasn't that much, Kay. And Klavier's right, there _are_ four other band members plus everyone else that gets money from ticket sales, so giving us a twenty percent discount—"

"You helped him _write_ some of the damn songs, the least he can do is let you into the concert for free." Sebastian is somewhat glad Kay can't turn around and glare at him, though he can picture the scowl well enough that perhaps it would be redundant. "You prosecutors really have no concept of how money works for ninety-five percent of the world, do you?"

"That's unfair!" They're definitely heading uphill, and Sebastian is suddenly glad that the duct is a tight squeeze, because hopefully he won't end up sliding downhill, away from Kay. "I've been very good with money the last four years. I've been paying rent and buying groceries and paying utilities! You even helped me with a budget a few times."

"I did, but your budget basically amounts to 'don't try to buy China and you'll be good'." Kay sighs. "Not that I'm _mad_ you guys are doing well, and my dad's savings meant I've made it through university without getting into debt, but... well, it means you two don't really _get_ money like a normal person does."

"I resent the fact that I am being called abnormal." Kay's legs disappear, and Sebastian finds himself having to wiggle and contort his way through an S-curve. "Also... either you can't count past two... or you think... Prosecutor Edgeworth does a better job... than Klavier and I at—"

"Edgeworth is classy rich. It's a completely different subject." Kay's legs have stopped, and Sebastian can see light from something other than their flashlights illuminating the space ahead of him. "All right, this is where we exit the ducts. I don't see anyone, but on the off chance someone comes running at the noise, help hoist me back up, okay?"

"But I—" Sebastian isn't given time to protest that he likely has neither the physical upper body strength needed to do so nor the fortitude to go scrabbling through ducts while being chased by unknown people for a crime that can be _very simply solved_ by turning over the tickets in his pocket.

Two stubborn _clangs_ of Kay's boots against metal, and the grate that she was in front of vanishes, Kay dropping down out of sight a moment later.

When no one immediately starts shouting, Sebastian removes his hands from in front of his eyes and squiggles his way closer to the missing grate.

"Come on!" Kay's excited whisper comes from what seems a long way down. "Quick, before the guard comes by on patrol!"

"Um, Kay..." Sebastian eyes the drop to the floor. He hadn't realized that ceilings were so _high up_ until just this moment, not really. "How?"

Rolling her eyes, Kay waves both hands in a gesture that clearly means _come on_. "Just put your feet through and jump! Or dangle and drop. Come on, you can do this! Look, I'll even help catch you."

For a few moments Sebastian considers just staying where he is. He's perfectly safe, really, and perhaps once Kay has proven that she needs nothing so mundane and plebeian as a ticket to attend a concert she will deign to come rescue him with a ladder.

Then he takes another look at Kay's face, squeezes his eyes closed, maneuvers his legs through the gap, and falls.

The squawk that he makes on the way down is distinctly undignified; the pile of arms and legs that he and Kay end up in even more so.

"Thank you." Sebastian crawls away, trying to get to his feet and pick up the scattered remnants of his dignity as he does. "For at least trying to catch me."

"I said I would." Kay winces, stretching her arms up above her head and shaking her legs out one after the other. "You ready to continue the mission?"

"Do I have much choice?"

"Of course you do." Kay crosses her arms in front of her chest. "You've got your little tickets. You can head out any time. But then I get to tell your rock-star I beat his security all on my lonesome."

"He's not _my_ rock star, and I'm fairly certain he's just going to laugh at us anyway." Rotating his head on his neck, Sebastian resists the urge to sigh again. He seems to do an awful lot of it around Kay when she's in one of her proving-people-wrong moods. "But I'm already this far in. Lead on."

Kay grins, reaching out to take his hand, and Sebastian allows himself to be led through the bowels of the concert hall.

There should be music. Sebastian quietly orchestrates the soundtrack that, by all rights, _should_ be following them about on this ridiculous spy mission as he and Kay dart from room to room, corridor to corridor. A swelling chord there, showing the possibility of discovery; a haunting, creeping bass-line that is barely audible here, the percussion matching the audience's tense heartbeats; a sting of brass there, as Sebastian knocks a broom over with a clatter that is far too loud for the size of the object.

Kay would probably do better without him, honestly. She is clearly good at this—a little too good, and Sebastian worries that his friend has been playing vigilante again, her fury and frustration at the Dark Age of the Law only barely kept in check by her faith in Edgeworth and those who follow him.

They aren't here because of work, though. They are here to enjoy themselves, to see a friend enjoying himself, and as the roar of the crowd becomes more audible, their destination closer, Sebastian finds himself grinning despite his best efforts.

"Almost there. Down this corridor, through the door, hang a right, and we'll be at the front of the stage." Kay turns to him as she whispers, and a smile breaks across her face. "Sebastian, you're an incredible dork, you know that?"

"I am not." Sebastian pouts, though he keeps his own tone soft and quiet too. "And why do you say that?"

Kay turns back to study their path. "Because you're grinning like a proud parent at the sounds of all these people cheering for Gavin."

"I'm happy for a friend. He's talented. He deserves this." A twinge of jealousy sparks in Sebastian's chest, but it is only a twinge. Klavier had invited him to join the Gavinners twice before, when membership in the band fluctuated almost as rapidly as people's faith in the system, and Sebastian had turned him down both times. Sebastian is more a director and a composer than a musician, and unlike Klavier, he doesn't have the energy or focus needed to hold down two jobs.

Which is all right. He loves the job he has, and Klavier has ensured that Sebastian still gets to tinker with music by involving Sebastian in several of his album composition sessions.

(It's better than Sebastian would have gotten from his father, and he knows that. Blaize DeBeste didn't have any use for musicians, teased Sebastian mercilessly about his interest in music, and only Sebastian saying that it was the best extracurricular kept him in band. (Edgeworth doesn't understand the attraction of music, either, though his response is more puzzlement than disapprobation. After so many years of living with Blaize, puzzlement can sometimes read too much like disapproval, and so Sebastian keeps most of his music sessions just between himself and Klavier.))

"Ready to go, DeBeste?" Kay grins over her shoulder at him.

Despite the ridiculousness of the situation, there is a certain earnest energy to Kay's investment that Sebastian finds contagious. Rising up on the balls of his feet, he returns Kay's grin. "You couldn't lose me if you tried, Faraday."

Apparently taking that as a challenge, Kay sprints out into the corridor. Sebastian follows, his feet sounding too loud as they pound against the tile floor. Kay throws open the door, and they both tumble through—

Straight into an immovable mountain of human flesh, Sebastian colliding with Kay's back and squishing her against the man who has caught them.

"Kay Faraday." Gumshoe's voice cuts easily over the noise of the crowd, despite the crowd being louder here. "And Prosecutor DeBeste, too! Thought you might have more sense than this, pal."

Disentangling himself once again from Kay, Sebastian takes a step back and tries to straighten his now even more sorely rumpled suit. "Sense tends to leave quickly when Ms. Faraday enters the picture."

Kay scowls at him, crossing her arms in front of her chest and trying to take a surreptitious step away from Gumshoe. The detective's hand snags her scarf and the back of her shirt, holding tight. Kay gives one experimental lunge before settling down and glaring up at Gumshoe. "Traitor."

"Nah. If I was a traitor, I'd march you down to Mr. Gavin right now and tell him that he was right about how you'd try to get into the theatre." Gumshoe releases his hold on Kay's jacket, apparently trusting her to not attempt escape again. "As it is, I'm just goin' to tell you that you're not quite as clever as you think you are, pal, and other people aren't quite as dumb as you think they are."

"I never said he was dumb." Kay continues to pout. "How'd he figure out where to set you, anyway?"

"East side of the theatre's the easier side to sneak into, he said. Had a schematic with a whole bunch of different paths drawn on it, and most of them intersected right here." Gumshoe grins, pointing down at the ground where he's standing.

"We're not going to get in trouble, are we?" Sebastian fishes in the front pocket of his jacket, pulling out two slightly crumpled tickets. "We _did_ buy tickets—"

Kay rolls her eyes. "One of us did, at least."

Sebastian glares at her. "And a breaking-and-entering charge would really look quite bad on a prosecutor's record."

Waving a hand at the tickets in Sebastian's hand, Gumshoe laughs and shakes his head. "Don't worry, Mr. Sebastian. Mr. Gavin didn't want even Faraday in trouble, just for her to know that he's on to her tricks."

Sighing, Kay drops into a more relaxed posture. "You're supposed to be on _my_ side, Gummy. You knew me first."

"I am on your side. I'm also on the side of you learnin' that just because you think some rule 's silly, that doesn't mean you can ignore it." Plucking the tickets from Sebastian's hand, Gumshoe gestures for them to proceed him down the corridor. "In honor of you bein' you though, Kay, I'm not gonna take you to Gavin. I'm just gonna help you poor lost souls find the door you _meant_ to come in, turn your tickets in, and get your seats. Sparklehair can spend all concert looking down at you and wondering if you slipped by me or just tricked him entirely and went in through the front door like a normal person. It'll drive him crazy."

A grin quickly spreads across Kay's face, and she breaks into a run until she's beside Gumshoe. Standing on tiptoe, she presses a quick kiss to the detective's cheek. "You really are the best, Gummy."

Beaming, Gumshoe rubs at the back of his neck, continuing to lead them toward the steadily-more-intimidating sound of an eager, energetic crowd.

There's no possible way Klavier is going to notice whether they're present or not, Sebastian thinks as a frazzled-looking woman scans the two tickets in his hand and directs he and Kay down toward the front of the venue. There are thousands of people here, and for the first time it really sinks in to Sebastian exactly how popular the Gavinners have become since he and Klavier first met.

They have good seats, four rows from the front and almost dead center. Sebastian had decided that if he was going to go to a concert, he was going to make sure he could actually _see_ his friend and the colleagues that he has gathered around him. Muttering apologies, they push their way through a sea of arms and legs and torsos and flashing lights, and Sebastian is surprised to find the gender distribution somewhere in the sixty-forty range as opposed to the overwhelming female majority he had expected.

"Here." Kay fiddles with the edge of her shirt when they've finally made their way to their seats, and produces two flexible, thin plastic tubes. "Break it in a bunch of places; it'll glow."

Sebastian takes the proffered item with a smile, pleasantly surprised to find that Kay was eager enough to bring something like this. "I know what a glowstick is, Kay."

"But have you ever used one before? That's what I thought." Bending hers with expert motions before turning it into a necklace and sliding it on, Kay sticks her tongue out at him.

The plastic is surprisingly stiff between his fingers, but Sebastian does as Kay did, triggering the chemical reaction.

Instead of glowing blue like hers does, though, his begins emitting a vibrant purple color—the same purple that is Klavier's favorite color.

Plucking the plastic from his hands, Kay forms it into a circle before settling it atop his head like a crown. "I thought it was fitting."

There isn't time for Sebastian to respond before the lights go out, plunging the audience into darkness, and a scream that is either great joy or great terror erupts all around them.

Five spotlights pierce through the darkness, and Klavier is suddenly on stage, a guitar in hand and the brightest grin Sebastian has ever seen on his face. He doesn't introduce himself or the other four people with him, instead charging straight into the opening chords of his newest hit single.

Klavier is a consummate performer. Sebastian knew that from watching him in court, but it shows even more when he is singing on stage. He knows how to work the crowd, when to speak and what accent to speak in, when to tease with a bit of skin or a flirtatious smirk, and when to let the music do the talking.

The crowd goes wild, cheering, clapping, singing along, following Klavier's lead as though they were dogs and he the master they adore. It's exhilarating, in some ways, and Sebastian finds himself cheering and clapping along.

It's terrifying, in some ways, and sometimes Sebastian finds himself pausing, trying to analyze what tricks Klavier is using to get the reactions that he wants.

Which isn't fair, because these people are here to have fun. _Klavier_ is here to have fun. The music is something separate from their prosecutor lives, though riffing on Klavier's status as a frighteningly good prosecutor and his ability to make legal puns has certainly not hurt the band's sales and status.

"What's wrong, Sebastian?" Kay practically yells the words into his ear in order to be heard over the band.

"Nothing!" Sebastian forces a smile. "Just—this is my first concert."

And possibly his last, too. Everything is becoming far too restrictive where he is, far too stuffy—far too _hot_ , though Sebastian tries hard to push that thought away. Yes, this is definitely going to be his last concert. At least the last one he will spend _here_ , buried in the seething energy of the crowd, and perhaps it would be better if he were to take a break—

He had been certain Klavier wouldn't be able to see him and Kay, given the size of the audience and the stage lights. He thinks he was wrong, though, because as the song comes to an end blue eyes seem to pin him in place.

The crowd is still mostly on their feet, ready and eager for the next power chord.

Pushing sweat-darkened hair out of his eyes, Klavier shrugs out of his guitar strap, setting the instrument down on its stand and stalking across the stage. He threw his jacket to some lucky fan fifteen minutes ago, and he looks oddly vulnerable and half-naked without the instrument, in just a sleeveless black shirt with only the middle two buttons actually done up.

" _Danke_ , again, to all of you, for coming tonight. It has been a glorious night so far, hasn't it?"

The crowd roars its approval, though already it is a quieter roar than what it had been sixty seconds ago, the energy fading back to an expectant hum as they listen to Klavier.

"I'm going to take a moment, if you don't mind, to share something special with all of you today. Something that you won't have heard anywhere else." Klavier's eyes flit to Sebastian again, and Klavier's grin becomes just a bit more honest, a bit more open. "Something a very dear friend helped me to write. The lyrics are mine, but the layering of the instruments and the key changes and all the other beautiful musical technicalities—well, you have been exposed to enough of my work by now to know I could not have done something like this alone."

A howl of disagreement from somewhere back in the audience, but Klavier pretends not to hear, stalking back across the stage to reclaim his guitar.

"I ask you to be quiet and still during this next song, so that at the end you can give me your true opinion on it."

They listen to him.

Sebastian should have expected it, he supposes. They have listened to Klavier for the rest of the evening—they have _paid_ to listen to him, and he is offering them something special.

Offering them one of the songs that he and Sebastian have fiddled on together, though it is a cleaner, crisper arrangement than the last one that Sebastian saw, perfectly suited to the Gavinners current membership. The lyrics have altered, too, though only slightly, still having that strange combination of earnestness and self-awareness that Sebastian loves about his friend's work.

Closing his eyes, Sebastian allows the music to wash over him, sinking into it. _He_ helped to create this. He and Klavier, together, _made this_ , and even if it isn't a creation that his father would ever understand, the simple fact of hearing others playing parts _he_ helped write brings a fizzing, euphoric lightness to Sebastian's head and heart. _There_ , that transition is something he spent all of one lunch hour trying to explain to Klavier, and now it is poured out effortlessly; _there_ , a melding of the bass and keyboard lines in a back-and-forth that he had been _certain_ would work.

When the song is done, the crowd erupts into wild applause, surging to their feet.

Klavier bows, extravagant, beautiful, impossible, and his eyes meet Sebastian's again for the briefest moment. " _Danke_ , everyone. But especial thanks to the one who made that song possible. I'm sure there are a thousand more waiting for us to set them free."

The concert moves on after that, to a hit song from one of Klavier's earliest albums, and Sebastian sinks down in his seat, his legs shaking.

"Here." Kay settles in her seat next to him, the two of them almost in a little bubble as the rest surge to their feet, and holds out a handkerchief.

"Huh?" Sebastian stares at the piece of fabric.

"You're crying." Kay brushes tears from his cheeks.

"I am?" Sebastian reaches up to touch the moisture, and feels the catch to his breathing. "I suppose I am. Did you know it was possible to be so happy you cried, Kay?"

"Yeah." Leaning forward, Kay brushes a kiss against his forehead. "And I'm glad that now you do, too."

They stay for the rest of the concert, and join Klavier and the Gavinners backstage once it is done, and it is one of the best nights of Sebastian's life.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** Warning for more discussion of capital punishment. Second to last chapter! Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading and reviewing, I really really appreciate it!

5.

Sebastian misses the call telling him that his father's execution has been scheduled.

He is in court when they call him, and though he feels the buzzing of his silenced phone in his pocket, a quick glance at the screen tells him it isn't related to the case currently being tried and thus not something that he can allow himself to be distracted by. The vibration a few seconds later tells him that a message was left, and he thinks nothing else of it, needing all of his focus to keep up with the defense for the case. Though it has been six years since Sebastian passed the bar and he no longer panics as readily as he once did—though he has acquired his own flair and style—the running of a trial isn't something that comes as effortlessly to him as it does to some of his friends.

He doesn't lose, though. Despite the defense presenting unexpected evidence, Sebastian is able to regain the momentum of his attack, and despite the defendant having been granted a twenty-four hour reprieve due to the judge's unwillingness to pass judgment before all potential avenues have been explored, Sebastian is certain tomorrow will go his way.

Gumshoe is waiting in the prosecutor's lounge for him. The big detective is pacing back and forth, his mouth turned down in a fierce frown, and he spins toward the door as soon as Sebastian steps through. "Mr. DeBeste, sir. Good job in there, pal."

Sebastian can't help but smile at the odd mix of formality and familiarity that has become Gumshoe's main method of coping with Sebastian's advancing age and career. It's not the most graceful thing, but it's very _Gumshoe_ , and it helps to remind Sebastian that he has friends—not only friends, but friends who respect what he does, what he has made of himself. "Thank you, detective. I'm glad to hear that you approve. Are you here to see me?"

"I am." Gumshoe's expression becomes utterly grave. "You haven't checked your phone yet, right?"

"I—no." Sebastian automatically reaches for the object, dread starting to build in his stomach. "Has something happened? To Prosecutor Edgeworth?"

Gumshoe immediately shakes his head, and Sebastian draws a deep, shuddering breath. Edgeworth is traveling again, a very brief trip to England this time. Though he spends more time in the country with every passing year, is amassing quite a deal of respect and power both locally as well as internationally, the frequent trips mean that if someone is going to be involved in an accident, he's the most likely one. "Kay, then? Klavier?"

Gumshoe shakes his head at each name, running a hand back through his hair. "All of our pals are fine, don't worry. It's... well, do you want me to tell you, or do you want Mr. Edgeworth to? He said I can call him, if you want to hear the news from him, but you're absolutely _not_ t' hear it from a recording."

"Oh." Sebastian moves to one of the benches, setting his bag down and sitting without any grace. He knows, though. He began preparing for this over a year ago, when the standard time from sentencing to execution had passed; he re-prepared himself six months ago, when his father's final appeal was turned down; and yet... it doesn't quite feel true, still. It has been six years, and the boy who testified at his father's trial has grown into a man that thought he long ago came to terms with it, but his hands are shaking still as he looks up at Gumshoe. "It's about my father, isn't it?"

Gumshoe nods, and Sebastian appreciates, at least, that the detective doesn't try to beat around the bush anymore. "The execution order for your father was signed this mornin', with the sentence to be carried out tomorrow mornin' at oh-nine-hundred hours."

"Tomorrow..." Sebastian licks his lips, trying to force his mind to start working in complete sentences again. "But... executions are normally carried out in the evening. I have a _trial_ tomorrow. Plus Prosecutor Edgeworth—"

Biting down on his bottom lip, Sebastian forces himself to draw a deep breath through his nose. Edgeworth promised him, six years ago, that Sebastian wouldn't have to stand alone at his father's execution. As the prosecutor at the trial, Edgeworth would be notified, as well, and he had _promised_ that he would attend, though Edgeworth normally doesn't. Edgeworth says he sees no reason to go, save in very particular cases—when Sebastian borrowed Klavier's almost-frighteningly extensive dossier on Edgeworth and looked into it, the last one he personally attended was that of Matt Engarde; the one before that had been Damon Gant's.

He can't very well attend if he's in Europe, though. _Sebastian_ can't very well attend—he can't abandon his pursuit of justice just because—

"Yes sir, Mr. Edgeworth sir, I'm standing right here next to him." Gumshoe stands straighter, his cell phone pressed hard to his ear, and even if Sebastian hadn't heard the name, he would know who Gumshoe is talking to. Gumshoe favors only one person with that much attention and dedication even at a distance, though he has been a good friend and ally to Kay and Sebastian and Klavier over the years. "I'll put him right on, sir."

 _Mister Edgeworth_ , Gumshoe mouths as he holds out the phone to Sebastian, and Sebastian takes it in fingers that tremble just slightly.

"Sebastian." Edgeworth's voice is calm, though there is the faintest overlay of concern, something that Sebastian has become very good at picking up on over the years. "You've heard about what's happened?"

"Y-yes." Trying to draw another breath in through his nose, Sebastian is horrified to hear himself sniffling. He will _not_ do this. He will not break down crying over a man who has been incarcerated on death row now for a quarter of his life. "It's f-fine."

"No, it's not." Edgeworth's voice is a low growl, something Sebastian is more used to hearing from Agent Lang than from the normally stoic prosecutor. "Somehow your father, despite being on death row for six years, still has enough influence to make his own death into a messy business for everyone. Scheduling it for the middle of a work day—I _will_ find out who allowed this, and make sure it doesn't happen again. Not that it's going to happen this time, either. I already have phone calls in to certain people, and I expect to have it rescheduled for the evening like any reasonable execution."

Reasonable execution. Sebastian's fingers turn white-knuckled where they grip Gumshoe's phone, and his breath whistles in his too-tight throat. He has not been to an execution since he and Klavier attended Broil's; he doesn't think Klavier has, either.

"And I will be there, Sebastian." Edgeworth's voice is softer, almost gentle. "I promised you, and I don't rescind on my promises."

"B-but..." Sebastian shakes his head. "You have work, you can't just jump on a plane and—"

"I can and I will. Especially with the extra time provided by moving the hanging, I should be able to charter a flight and make it with several hours to spare. I will, of course, have to catch another flight as soon as the event's complete, but I'll be there." Edgeworth speaks to someone other than Sebastian, in a language that Sebastian can't understand, and then sighs. "I'm going to have to go, if I want to make this work, but I'll keep in touch. Don't worry. It's all going to work out."

"I'm not worried." Sebastian forces a smile, hoping that it will be heard in his voice. "And... thank you, Mr. Edgeworth."

"No need for thanks." A pause, awkward, filled with a thousand things Sebastian wants to say and doesn't quite dare to, and then Edgeworth is speaking again before he can. "I'll see you shortly, Sebastian. Pass the phone back to Gumshoe for a moment, please."

Sebastian does, staying seated on his bench while Gumshoe finishes the conversation.

He feels... strange. Numb, almost, but not quite, a tingling sensation in his hands and legs. He can breathe, though, and he hasn't broken down into full-out sobs. This is good. Perhaps he will be able to handle this after all.

Perhaps it isn't even that big a deal. He's well into his twenties now, after all. He has been surviving for over six years without his father. Will it really be so different, knowing that his father is dead instead of sitting behind bars, trying to plot a way out of the noose that Edgeworth slipped so expertly around his neck all those years ago?

Does it really matter if the man who donated a bit of DNA to him dies, when it is clear even from just the last few minutes who has been a true father figure to Sebastian? Blaize tried to arrange his death to be as disruptive and damaging as possible, for Sebastian and for those Sebastian cares about; Edgeworth is disrupting his _own_ life, spending money for a special flight back from Europe, calling in favors to ensure that Sebastian's last memories of this whole terrible affair aren't of Blaize successfully manipulating him. Which of those is the more father like? Which is the man he should care about?

"Hey, pal." Gumshoe settles on the bench next to Sebastian, his phone stowed in his pocket again. His hand falls heavily on Sebastian's shoulder, his fingers squeezing gently. "I'm really sorry. This whole thing sucks."

Sebastian can't help but laugh, and he feels moisture leak out onto his cheeks and reaches up to swipe the tears away before they can truly gather. "Sometimes, detective, I truly love how you summarize situations."

"Sometimes that's all you can say. That something sucks, or it's awful, or you wish it wasn't the way it was." Gumshoe's hand pats gently at Sebastian's shoulder, his bulk a comforting presence that Sebastian allows himself to lean against for just a few moments. "All of 'em are true in this situation. Blaize DeBeste was a nasty man; you're a great kid, and I wish you didn't get stuck havin' to deal with your old man's... everything."

"I really appreciate that. I truly, deeply do." Sebastian straightens, wiping his cheeks again and smiling up at the detective, surprised to find that the expression comes easily. "And I suspect I'll be seeing you around, before this is all done. But I need to go do my job. My trial's not going to prepare itself for tomorrow, after all."

"No, I guess it won't." Standing, Gumshoe offers a hand to Sebastian and hauls him to his feet. "You do what you need to do. But if you need me, pal, at any time, you just call. Got it?"

"Got it." Picking up his bag, Sebastian smiles once more. "Thank you, Gumshoe. I really appreciate you coming to tell me."

"That's what friends're for." Gumshoe nods, as though he's just presented decisive evidence. "Need a ride anywhere? Anything I can help you with?"

"Not right now." Sebastian shakes his head. "I'll call you if I think of anything."

They go their separate ways, Sebastian towards his office, Gumshoe either to the precinct or to assist Edgeworth.

Sebastian tries hard to focus just on the trial, but he finds himself stopping and staring at blank walls far more than he would like to. Every time he catches himself doing that, he forces his attention back to the task at hand.

One more look through his file.

One more pass over the crime scene.

One more trip to the detention center.

One more note to forensics, and he has run out of things to do and only managed to pass three hours' worth of time.

He walks slowly as he returns to his office, mentally turning all the facts of the case over and over in his head, trying to ensure that he hasn't missed anything. If he fails tomorrow, he _may_ be able to earn an extra day or even a complete retrial by claiming his father's pending execution made him unfit for duty. He doesn't want to have to go there, though.

He doesn't want his father to win, even for a day.

Kay and Klavier are both sitting outside his office. Sebastian supposes he should have expected it, in a way. They are the best friends he has—the best friends he has ever had, and the best friends he can imagine having. Kay was involved in the cases that resulted in his father's downfall; Klavier keeps a close enough ear to the ground with regards to office rumor that it's no surprise he knows.

They both scramble to their feet, though Kay is faster about it, throwing herself at Sebastian and wrapping her arms around his neck. It isn't a tight grip—his friends know better than to hold him so that he can't escape—and it loosens as soon as he tenses, Kay's eyes meeting his, obvious concern shining from them. "I heard about tomorrow. Are you all right?"

"I..." Sebastian considers his answer for a few seconds before shaking his head. "I don't know? Is that a vapid— _valid—_ response?"

"Perfectly valid." Klavier's fingers brush against his, claiming Sebastian's bag, and Klavier's free hand claps very gently against Sebastian's shoulder. "Shall we talk in your office?"

"Yes." Disentangling himself from Kay's hold, Sebastian claims her right hand with his left, fishing his office key from his pocket with his free hand.

Nothing has changed in his office. Which it shouldn't have, not really—what does his father's impending execution have to do with anything else, really? Why should the news that his father is going to hang in somewhere between twenty and thirty-six hours cause his desk to become more neat, or his shelves filled with legal texts and old case files to magically dust themselves?

The light coming in through the window is a muted gray—a nice window, now, with a view out onto one of the few patches of green left in the city. It's the same light he was walking through when he went to the crime scene, when he went to the detention center, the stagnant, diffuse brightness of a sky that refuses to be clear but doesn't have nearly enough moisture to actually threaten rain. Should he find something symbolic in that, or is it reaching, applying meaning where there is none?

He has somehow come around to his usual spot, settled into his comfortable, well-worn desk chair without meaning to. Klavier perches on the left corner of his desk; Kay perches on the other, their stances almost comically similar as they watch him.

"I'm..." Sebastian pauses, frowning down at his desk. There are pictures on each of the far corners—on the right, one of himself, Kay, Gumshoe, and Prosecutor Edgeworth; on the left, one of himself and the Gavinners, Klavier with an arm around Sebastian's shoulders and a bright, effortless grin on his face. His friends, his coworkers, the people who have seen him through the last six years of his life, and Sebastian settles back more comfortably in his chair. "I'm... all right. And usually that's good, because he deserves what's coming to him." He has to believe that. He will not question that. "But sometimes... sometimes I feel like I should feel something else. Like... like I am betraying myself, somehow, by not being more upset."

"You don't owe him anything, Sebastian." Kay leans toward him, righteous fury simmering beneath her words. "He did awful things, to other people and also to you. So don't feel like you _have_ to grieve, if you don't want to or don't feel like it."

"But also don't feel that you aren't allowed to." Klavier has grown his hair out, and he toys with the end of his braid as he speaks, his gaze somewhere in the middle distance between Sebastian and the floor. "He was an awful person. Justice is being done. But he was also your father. Whether you are fine or not, whether you need to grieve or not, we are here for you."

"I would happily tell you both what I need." Sebastian shrugs, and he is definitely not numb, because as he looks between his two friends his chest _hurts_ with how much he loves them and appreciates what they are willing to do for him and accept from him. "But I'm afraid I'm not entirely certain."

"And that's all right, too." Kay hops off the desk, reaching down to take his left hand and squeeze it gently. "You take some time to figure it out. And if we can help you, at any time, with anything, just let us know."

"I know. It means the world to me." Sebastian smiles.

"That is because you're sweet." Klavier slides off the desk with a bit more grace and a bit less fierce energy than Kay, his hand coming to rest on Sebastian's right shoulder. "I see you have been working?"

Sebastian nods. "I have a trial tomorrow—part two of my trial today. I think it's going to go well, though."

Kay pokes a toe at Sebastian's work bag. "Want us to look through things?"

Sebastian hesitates before nodding. "If you wouldn't mind. The fewer surprises I have tomorrow, the happier I'll be."

"We would be happy to. But first..." Klavier looks pointedly at the clock. "Have you had lunch yet?"

"Ah..." Sebastian glances at the clock, too, surprised to see how far the hands have moved. "I knew I was forgetting something."

"Lunch at three-thirty is really more like an early supper, but it's better than the alternative." Sighing, Kay begins tugging on his hand until Sebastian clambers to his feet.

Sebastian can't help glancing at his bag, though, wondering if it's really all right for him to go...

Klavier's arm slides across his shoulders. "You will help no one passing out from low blood sugar."

Kay's arm goes around his waist. "Take a little break with us. We'll all go through your case file once we're done."

Nodding, Sebastian allows himself to be led forward. "Will you... tomorrow, do the two of you mind..."

"I'll definitely be there." Kay's voice is once more all grim fury.

"If you want me to be there, I will be, Herr Erste."

"I'd like that." Sebastian nods, not trusting himself to say more.

They stay with him for the rest of the afternoon. They don't talk more about what's to come tomorrow—what more is there to say? Instead they go to a little restaurant that Klavier likes, and Klavier and Kay argue over how to divide the bill until Sebastian solves the whole problem by slipping the waiter his credit card. When they get back to the office, Klavier disappears for a little over an hour, presumably to take care of his own pressing work; Kay stays with Sebastian, going over his case in intricate detail with him.

When Kay has to leave at six forty five, to babysit for a friend of Edgeworth's, Klavier is already back in Sebastian's office. He spends another hour helping Sebastian with paperwork and prep work, until there is nothing else Sebastian can think of to possibly distract himself with at work.

They don't go out to eat again, though Sebastian had half expected Klavier to suggest it. Instead they grab some take-out on the way to Sebastian's apartment, and they spend a few hours tinkering with songs, coming up with melody lines and descants for Klavier's new album.

It's just before midnight when Klavier packs up to leave. He does it slowly, watching Sebastian all the while, and Sebastian almost breaks down and asks him to stay.

He doesn't want to be that needy, though. He doesn't want to be that weak.

He doesn't want anyone to be around when he pulls out the tote of personal effects that he saved from Blaize DeBeste's room and goes through them, staring at photographs of himself and his father, running his hands over prizes that his father rigged for him and never cared about.

He doesn't want anyone else there when he cries, this time, and so he reassures Klavier again and again that he will be fine, and smiles for his friend even though the expression feels too fragile, and locks the door firmly behind him once Klavier is out in the hall.

He is in bed and sleeping before one, and his cheeks are dry when he wakes, and that's really all anyone could ask of him right now, given everything.

The trial goes smoothly, despite him having less sleep than would be ideal. Kay is in the audience, a young girl in a blue cape and top hat at her side. She cheers him on with vigor and zeal, and there is something comforting about her just being there.

After the trial, Klavier collects him and takes him to lunch, his tongue only stumbling a little bit over the word _celebratory_ as he realizes exactly how it could be taken, given the events that are to transpire that evening.

Edgeworth meets them at Sebastian's office after lunch. Sebastian had both known it was coming and not expected it, and he finds himself freezing in place, the reality of what is to come suddenly feeling far too close.

"Gavin." Edgeworth's voice is cool and collected as he rises from one of the guest chairs. "Sebastian."

"Herr Edgeworth." Klavier automatically straightens, a hopeful glint appearing in his eyes again. Though Klavier has nothing but deep respect for Edgeworth, has researched and studied Edgeworth's career in depth, Edgeworth is wary of Klavier, and it shows in all their interactions. Sebastian has tried to do what he can to smooth over the awkwardness, has poked about at the Wright case that Edgeworth very clearly thinks was rigged in some way, and things are better now than they were when Edgeworth was first introduced to Klavier.

Better is not the friendship and mentorship that Klavier still hopes for, though, the relationship that he occasionally admits he is jealous of Sebastian for having earned, and Sebastian wishes there was more he could to put Edgeworth at ease. Whatever else Klavier may be, Sebastian is absolutely certain he's not part of the corruption that runs rampant still during this Dark Age of the Law.

"Edgeworth." Sebastian swallows, willing his voice not to crack. "Thank you. For..."

"It's not a problem." Edgeworth's body language softens, his shoulders relaxing as his gaze turns from Klavier to Sebastian. "There are some things we need to talk about still, though. Gavin, would you mind..."

"Not at all." If Klavier minds being dismissed, it doesn't show in his stance or his smile as he turns to Sebastian. "Kay and I will pick you up this evening."

"You mean Kay will pick both of us up." The ghost of a smile touches Sebastian's face. "Because _you_ still only own that ridiculous motorcycle of yours."

"The hog is still the most beautiful piece of machinery you will ever see, but yes, Kay will be driving." Klavier's smile reaches his eyes, a small but subtle change that Sebastian has become very good at picking up on over the years. "If you need us before then..."

Klavier doesn't finish the statement. He doesn't need to. It's been said often enough before, and Sebastian waits for the _click_ of his office door closing behind his friend before making his way to his desk chair and settling down.

Only once he's sitting does Sebastian realize how awkward and _wrong_ it feels, Edgeworth standing in front of one of the visitor's chairs while Sebastian takes the place of authority behind the desk, and he immediately goes to stand again.

"Don't." Edgeworth holds up a hand, settling down into his chair and pulling it partway around the desk so they can face each other more evenly. A hint of darkness touches the skin beneath his eyes, the only sign that the last day has been tiring. "Congratulations on your victory this morning."

"Thank you." Sebastian can feel his cheeks heating, the praise settling like a pleasant liquid fire in his gut.

"There are some small details we need to discuss about tonight. The execution is scheduled for eight this evening. I'm sure you know that by now, though." Edgeworth's fingers drum once against the arm of his chair. "I'll be there as the state's witness; you won't have to do anything but attend. Assuming you want to attend, of course."

" _Want_ is a strong word..." Sebastian gives a brief, mirthless laugh as he borrows Klavier's words from years ago. "He's my father, though. I want to see this through to the end."

"That I understand." A single tap of Edgeworth's index finger against his chair arm, and his eyes aren't quite meeting Sebastian's. "I suppose there's no easy way to ask this. Do you want to see him before the end? Do you want to have one final visitation?"

Ice seems to collect across all of Sebastian's skin, and for a moment he simply can't speak. There is no one else to step in, though, no one else to say the words he can't, so he forces his frozen tongue to move. "I h-haven't... I haven't been to see him since the sentencing."

He'd intended to go, at first. Once he thought he could trust himself to face his father without crying, he would go and show Blaize DeBeste that he wasn't afraid of him. He would look at his father in prison and realize exactly how powerless and wrong the man was. He would make sure his father knew that Sebastian was strong enough to make it on his own.

Day rolled into day, week crawled into week, and Sebastian eventually realized it didn't matter if his father ever acknowledged what he has become. He is a successful prosecutor. He has friends—he almost has family, of a sort, in the other people that have collected around Prosecutor Edgeworth. It isn't the type of thing that Blaize DeBeste would understand or appreciate, but it is what Sebastian needs and wants. What point, then, in going to see his father?

In the hopes that he would apologize? Sebastian doesn't know which would be worse, if Blaize _did_ apologize to him or if Blaize continued to sneer at Sebastian as a traitor and a useless son.

In the hopes that his father would acknowledge the work Sebastian has done? It is far too easy to imagine his father instead scoffing that all Sebastian and his ilk have done is erode people's faith in the system, the Dark Age of the Law proof enough that nothing has changed, and Sebastian doesn't feel like having that philosophical argument with one of the men who is, unequivocally, responsible for the sorry mess that the legal system has become.

In the hopes that Sebastian could find some peace? His father is going to hang, and Sebastian helped ensure it, and there is no world Sebastian can imagine where Blaize will help him come to terms with that.

"You don't have to talk to him, Sebastian." Edgeworth speaks to his hands, his brows drawn together, a deep furrow between them. "I don't know exactly how much you've heard about my past..."

"I know about... um... the DL-6 case." Sebastian tries not to fidget. "About Manfred von Karma."

"Good." Edgeworth's frown doesn't change. "Then you know I've a little bit of personal experience with something... similar. It wasn't entirely the same, and Von Karma helped himself along before the hangman could catch up to him, but..."

"Did you go speak with him?" Sebastian bites his lip, keeping back any more specific questions. Let Edgeworth tell his story the way he needs to; if there is something else Sebastian needs to know when he's done, then he can ask.

"I did. Twice." Edgeworth swallows, a convulsive movement of his throat. "The first time was just days after his conviction. I wanted to understand why. He wasn't able to give me an explanation that I could accept. Even then, even so shortly after I broke free, I was too different from him. I couldn't see the world the way he could, and I am grateful for that every day."

Sebastian nods, the movement feeling jerky and uncoordinated. "The... second time?"

"Was before my disappearance. Shortly before his death." Edgeworth's lips twitch up into a faint, grim smile. "I asked the same questions from a different perspective; he offered the same answers, and they were even more horrific to me than the first time."

"So you would counsel me not to go?" There is a part of Sebastian that feels relief at the suggestion, but there are a thousand other disparate reactions, too—grief, anger, _guilt_ , heavens, he thought he'd put guilt behind years ago—and they tie his stomach in knots.

"I would advocate that you do what you feel will be best for you. No more, no less." Edgeworth sighs, straightening and slipping a pair of spectacles from his front suit pocket to perch them on his nose. "Franziska saw Von Karma, as well. Shortly before his death. There were parts of talking to him that she appreciated, and parts that I think she will carry as thorns in her soul for the rest of her life. If you would like to speak with her about her experiences..."

Sebastian considers, and then shakes his head. "I suspect she would say about what you have, only with a bit more _fool_ thrown in. Neither of you can make the decision for me, and I'm... not sure if there is a good or a bad decision to be had."

"There isn't." Edgeworth's shoulders rise in a faint, tired shrug. "Whatever you decide to do, there will be good things to come from it and bad."

"I think I would like to see him, at least once. Or... let him see me. Let him see what I've become." Sebastian draws a shuddering breath. "But I also think... as you said yesterday, he tried to make his death as disruptive as possible for everyone he could. And I would prefer not to be alone with him, if that's the kind of mood he's in."

"He won't be able to hurt you, Sebastian." Edgeworth's voice falls to a lower, growling register. "I'll make sure he's restrained."

"Most of the hurts we've all suffered haven't been physical ones. I like to think, after all these years, my father won't know how to hurt me anymore." Sebastian tries to smile, though it slips after only a few seconds. "I somehow suspect he'll still be able to, though."

"You don't have to go to _any_ of this, if you don't want to." Edgeworth pushes his glasses up, peers at Sebastian with his calm silver eyes. "You can just go about your life, and let this end as we've all known it has to end."

"I could. But that... doesn't feel _right_." Sebastian stares down at his white-gloved hands. "Nothing about this really feels right, but I think... if it's going to happen, I need to see it. I need to be there. Do you know who else... who's going to be there too?"

"Not many people." Edgeworth raises one hand and begins ticking off fingers. "Yourself. Myself. Kay. Agent Lang, if he can make the flight."

"Klavier." Sebastian's voice is quiet as he makes the addition.

"And Mr. Gavin, if you want him to be." Edgeworth nods, his tone carefully neutral.

"I want him to be there." Sebastian doesn't know when his arms wrapped around his chest, or when he started shivering, but he can't seem to make either stop. "I want both him and Kay there."

"I see no reason he should be barred from attending, and Kay is one of the people injured by your father. She would be going even if you weren't, I think." Edgeworth's hand has fallen to his lap, and a look of deep contemplation etches itself into his face. When he speaks, though, it's not what Sebastian had expected—not a question or a concern about Kay, and her need to see the man who attempted to use and manipulate her while she was hurt hang. Perhaps Edgeworth can understand those emotions all too well, given the executions he has attended in the past. "Gavin has been a good friend to you, hasn't he?"

Sebastian nods.

"I'm glad. We can all use good friends in our lives." Edgeworth meets Sebastian's gaze evenly. "Do you know what you'd like, or do you want to think about it for a few hours?"

"That's everyone who's coming?" Sebastian stares down at the five fingers of his right hand. His father's whole life, and the only people who will go to see his death can be counted on one hand, and none of them actual mourners...

"Your father's fall burned a lot of his bridges. Very few want to be seen as involved or complicit with him. A bit of fiddling with timing and paperwork, that they could give him, but actually attending his death..." Edgeworth's smile is small and grim. "Either that or they've gone before him."

"Could we..." Sebastian bites down on his bottom lip for a moment. "I know it would be irregular, but could I talk to him just before the execution? While everyone's there?"

Edgeworth considers the request for a few seconds before nodding. "Let me see what I can do. It doesn't seem unreasonable to me, though."

"That's what I'd like, then." Sebastian forces his arms to unwrap. "If I can't have that, I'd like to see him with Klavier and Kay present. Not alone."

"I'll see that it happens, one way or the other." Edgeworth stands, takes a step forward to place a hand on Sebastian's shoulder. "Take care of yourself today, and I'll see you this evening."

Sebastian murmurs out something that is probably a goodbye, and watches Edgeworth walk to the door with stinging eyes.

Squeezing his eyes shut, putting his head down on his desk, Sebastian forces himself to draw slow, even breaths. He has cried enough for his father already—too much, really, considering the man that his father was. He has no doubt that he is going to cry again before the day is out, but he doesn't want to spend the whole afternoon doing it. There are other things he can do— _useful_ things he can do. There is still paperwork that needs to be done to finalize the trial this morning. There is a stack of sheet music from Klavier for him to decipher and see what he can make of. There are many, many more things he can do with himself than cry, at least for the moment.

It was the nicest thing his father ever did for him, probably—showing that it was all right for anyone to cry, even powerful men. Never mind that his father's were frequently crocodile tears, one societal expectation Sebastian has never completely internalized is that tears are only for the weak. Living— _really_ living, with friends and joy and affection—is the best negation Sebastian can think of to his father's plans and general views, though, and that is what Sebastian wants to do.

He hasn't been given any new cases. Because there aren't any? Because everyone knows that his father will hang tonight? Quite possibly just because he hasn't finished his paperwork, but when he pulls it out, he finds that words want to tangle and twist on him in a way they haven't done for years.

Very well, then. He knows where to go.

Fishing his phone and some of the music from his desk, Sebastian heads up to Klavier's office.

Klavier is on the phone, but he smiles at Sebastian, gesturing for Sebastian to take up residence by the window. It is an absolutely _gorgeous_ view, and Sebastian would be jealous if he didn't get to spend so much time here anyway.

Closing the door behind him, Sebastian takes one of Klavier's guitars down off its perch and settles with it in front of the window. The instrument is beautifully tuned, as usual, and before a minute is up Sebastian is lost in a different world, trying to line up percussion lines and chord progressions in a way that is both natural and new.

"Sebastian." Klavier stays seated at his desk, his phone held loose in one hand. "There are a few more calls I have to make, about the Yule Lough case. Do you mind?"

Sebastian shakes his head, his face flushing hot. "This is your office. Do you want me to—"

Klavier is shaking his head as soon as Sebastian starts the question. "I want you to stay here, if this is where you want to be. I just wanted to make sure you don't need to talk right away."

"No." Sebastian smiles. "Do what you need to do."

Klavier spends most of the next hour in a series of phone calls; Sebastian spends it tinkering with rhythms and Klavier's guitar. He gets distracted from the song he was supposed to be helping Klavier with by a chord progression of his own, and when eventually Klavier settles next to him, Sebastian has the bare bones of a completely new song jotted down.

"Mind if I look?" Klavier waits for Sebastian's nod before turning the paper toward himself. Then he turns the paper a bit more towards Sebastian, and then almost sixty degrees toward himself, frowning at it. "And you tell me I am terrible about how I write down my ideas. Would you care to give me a demonstration, _mein Freund_?"

"You _are_ terrible about writing down your ideas. For someone who's so ridiculously perfectionist about the finished products, you sometimes have a very messy brainstorming style." Sebastian reclaims his notes, his face heating again. "And of course I don't mind. It's still a mess, though, so... well... here it is."

Klavier listens attentively, closing his eyes and keeping a steady rhythm with one finger tapping against the carpet until Sebastian lets the music stagger to a halt. When he meets Sebastian's eyes, he grins. "I like it. A lot."

"It still needs a lot of work." Sebastian smiles.

"Of course it does. You're just getting started. But I think you've got something good percolating here. Quieter than I usually go, a little haunting, but with some work..." Klavier's hand settles gently on Sebastian's shoulder. "This will be fantastic."

 _Like you,_ Klavier's eyes seem to say, his honest enthusiasm and clear pleasure in Sebastian's company saying without words what Sebastian needs to hear, and Sebastian has to close his eyes for a moment before he can continue speaking.

Klavier doesn't seem to mind, picking up his guitar and fiddling with some of the chords, humming low in his throat as he does.

Sebastian spends the rest of the afternoon in Klavier's office, working on his song. Klavier alternates between talking music with him and running about on errands for various cases, but he makes it clear that he's glad to have Sebastian in the background, if that's where Sebastian wants to be.

Kay picks them up just after six, idling her car in a semi-legal spot while they pack up and hurry down the stairs. Edgeworth had sent a text saying they should arrive at the detention center no later than seven fifteen, so that gives them plenty of time to get something to eat and clear security.

There is a strange sense of deja vu as they make their way across the dark parking lot. Klavier and Kay each hold one of his hands as they walk, Klavier shortening his strides to more evenly match Sebastian and Kay's. Once they are in the building, though, Klavier walks ahead, as he did last time, flashing his badge and announcing all of them and their destination.

Sebastian once more removes his badge from his jacket, giving it to the guard so that the identification number can be checked and recorded; Kay hands over her driver's license to be photocopied.

"Everything looks to be in order, then." The guard's eyes are sympathetic as he looks up at Sebastian. "Down the hall, first corridor on your right. Officer Andwaite will explain everything to you when you're there."

" _Danke_." Klavier smiles at the man, taking Sebastian's hand in a firm grip and leading him forward.

Would it be better, if Sebastian had come to more of the executions that he has been invited to? Would it be different, if there was more than one memory for him to compare this with? Would it be better if he had _never_ come to another execution, if this was the first time?

He doesn't think that last one is true, at least. He would not want the trembling terror of the unknown overlaying all the other emotions involved in this walk.

"It'll be all right." Kay's voice is a quiet whisper, but her fingers are tight around his, her eyes all steel determination as she stares ahead. "We're right here, Sebastian. Everything will be fine."

" _I'll_ be fine." Sebastian nods, promising the only thing that he can.

The officer standing in front of the witness' room checks them off on his clipboard, scowling slightly as he does. "There's been a slight change in the proceedings for the execution today. The convicted will be brought down approximately ten minutes prior to the execution time—in five minutes—and will be given a chance to speak with the witnesses. After that, everything will proceed as usual. The convicted will be walked to the gallows, and be hanged by the neck until dead. At that point the state's witness will confer with the medical examiner that death has taken place, and the witnesses will be free to go. Any questions?"

Kay and Klavier both glance at him, and Sebastian tries to remember how his tongue is supposed to work, how words are supposed to feel as they are formed.

Kay's voice fills the silence, her fingers noose-tight around his. "No, thank you. We all understand what's going to happen."

Klavier leads them into the room, still with Sebastian's hand in his. The room seems much larger than the last time Sebastian was here. That makes sense, though. There are far fewer people here—only Prosecutor Edgeworth and Agent Lang, sitting side by side in the small row of five chairs set before the window. Edgeworth is sitting very primly, his arms crossed in front of his chest, looking far too classy for the well-cushioned but decidedly plastic chairs.

Lang is lounging across two chairs, his feet crossed at the ankles. The Interpol agent hasn't changed out of his work clothes. Sebastian sometimes wonders if Lang actually _owns_ anything other than his black pants and his shirt that leaves little to the imagination.

"Sebastian!" Lang's head rises as soon as they walk in the room, his expression reminding Sebastian strongly of a wolf suddenly catching a scent. Lunging to his feet, Lang closes the distance between them in a few quick strides, coming to a halt in front of Sebastian. "I've been hearing a lot about you, pup."

"Only good things, I home—hope?" Sebastian tries to clear his throat, hoping his voice will sound less sad and lost if he does.

"Not just good things. Great things. I hear you're making quite the name for yourself. Not the kind of name your father or Von Karma had, but a _good_ name. A just man who won't stop until he finds the truth. Lang Zhi says it takes a strong pup to outgrow the shadow of its forebears, but you've done that." Lang's right hand reaches out, his fist rapping gently against Sebastian's left shoulder. "You've become a strong hunter in your own right, and I'm proud of you."

Sebastian can feel his breath stuttering in his throat, and he opens and then closes his mouth, not sure what to say. He has met Lang several times since their first eventful encounters—the Interpol agent always seems to make it his business to involve Edgeworth in any cases within a four hundred mile radius of the city, and that usually means involving Gumshoe and Sebastian and a handful of others. To hear that Lang is _proud_ of him, though—to hear that Lang has been following Sebastian's career even when not near—

"What about me, wolf-man?" Kay grins up at Lang, her free hand perched on her hip, though she hasn't let go of Sebastian's hand.

"What about you?" Lang crosses his arms, studying Kay up and down. "You were already a fierce fighter when I met you, Kay. It shouldn't surprise anyone that you've grown into an even better one. How's the private investigator business treating you?"

"Good. I think I'm making a real difference." Kay swings their linked hands. "Though these two do a little bit, too, I guess."

Lang laughs, his usual full-throated, energetic sound.

It seems to echo strangely in the confines of the witness' room, and Sebastian finds himself swaying, a strange feeling of disconnection making it hard to keep his balance.

Lang's hand lands on his shoulder; Klavier and Kay both press a little closer, and Sebastian can feel his face heating. Silly. He and Klavier laughed when they were on their way to their first execution. Sebastian doesn't even _like_ his father—is not sure he _ever_ liked his father. Loved, yes, oh yes, and revered, but Blaize DeBeste was not a man his son could _like_ , so why should it matter what is happening now?

Edgeworth is standing by the row of chairs, a pocket watch open in his hand despite there being a perfectly good clock mounted on the wall. "We should take our seats, I think. I was thinking of putting Kay in the center, with you next to her and Klavier on the end. I will sit on Kay's other side, with Agent Lang next to me. Is that acceptable?"

"That's... that's good." Sebastian forces his feet to move again, to carry him closer to the chairs.

The hand that Klavier is holding ends up being pulled up short, and Sebastian turns a quizzical gaze on his friend. Klavier's eyes are wide, his gaze fixed on Edgeworth with something that looks suspiciously like hope and excitement, but he blinks and turns a sheepish smile on Sebastian as the three of them take their seats.

Why did... oh. Glancing surreptitiously down at Edgeworth, Sebastian suppresses a smile of his own. Has he ever heard Edgeworth call Klavier anything other than Gavin, at least in front of Klavier? Not that he can remember, and if Blaize DeBeste's death can at least start peppering— _papering_ —over this rift in the prosecutor's office—

The door to the execution chamber swings open, and Blaize DeBeste is led in, his arms shackled together behind his back. Because they don't trust him? Because he has tried to do something? Because he has _threatened_ to do something? Sebastian can feel his stomach clench into a tight knot at the visual proof that his father is making this as difficult as possible still.

The door between the execution chamber and the witness' room doesn't squeak, the hinges apparently meticulously cared for. There is just a puff of cold air, and the guard leads Blaize DeBeste into the room.

There is no familiar smell, no rolling wave of oil and hint of smoke that Sebastian still expects, even after all this time. Just the cold of the execution chamber's air conditioning, and the scent of the guard's cologne, something with a minty overtone that Sebastian knows his father would never wear.

He looks older than he had the last time Sebastian saw him. Sebastian supposes that was inevitable—Sebastian himself has changed, has aged into a slightly harder jaw line, a bit more muscle, though his body retains more of the grace that Klavier's has than it shows shades of Blaize's firm masculinity. Blaize's hair has been cut recently, though he has not been provided with a beard, the scars on his lower face standing out starkly against skin that has become much paler than Sebastian remembers it being.

"Boy." Blaize smiles, and it is an expression Sebastian remembers in his bones, a promise of pain and retribution to come. "Finally got up the nerve to see me, I take it, but only if you've got a posse at your back? Or did one of them goad you into it?"

"No, Father." Sebastian straightens in his seat, studying the gray-haired figure with his father's eyes but who is... missing something. Is it the manacles? The paleness? The loss of his chosen clothing and features? Though Sebastian knows this is his father, knows that _voice_ and will undoubtedly still hear it in his dreams until he dies, there is something sad and underwhelming about the man before him. "I wanted to see you, but I also wanted my friends at my side."

"Friends." Blaize smiles, but it is more a sneer of utter disdain. "Don't count on friends, Sebastian. One misstep, and any _friends_ you thought you had will disappear. If I can only manage to teach you one thing, idiot boy, let it be that."

"I think you would teach me that, if you could." Sebastian disentangles his hands from Klavier and Kay, levering himself slowly to his feet so that he can face his father more evenly. "I think, if you could destroy just one thing for me, it would be my faith in people. Because you never had it. You never had faith in anyone but yourself—certainly not in me. And the idea that I'm succeeding by following a path you disdained, by searching for truth and justice and having _actual_ friends, not lackeys and blackmail victims and accomplices... that infuriates you, doesn't it?"

Blaize laughs, a short, rough bark that seems without mirth. "The only thing infuriating about you, idiot boy, is your stubborn refusal to see the truth. They _will_ betray you. They _will_ fail you. Just like you've failed me."

"Which isn't nearly as badly as you've failed me." Sebastian doesn't back down, though he does flinch, just a little bit, as he hears his father's fingers rubbing together in a familiar threat. "You were supposed to be the best of the best. You were supposed to be someone I could depend on and look up to."

"Everything you had you got from _me_ , idiot boy." Blaize smiles again, condescending, arrogant. "Every class you passed, every award you won, every victory you ever tasted was because _I_ bought it for you."

"No." Klavier speaks quietly, but his eyes are the dark hard blue of an ocean storm, his accent thick and strong. "What you bought was a lie—a pretty cage that you tried to build for your son. Family should help you to grow, to learn, to become better, but all you ever cared about was yourself. So instead of recognizing the talent in your son, you stifled it; instead of helping him become a better man, you made him a pawn and a plaything and then tried to hold what _you_ crafted against him."

"Sebastian's been a better prosecutor—done _more_ for the world as a prosecutor—in six years than you did in forty. And you can't stand it." Kay's smile is barbed and pointed. "You can't stand the fact that he's better than you."

"Because he's not. Because I know what he really is." Blaize's tone is conciliatory, almost gentle as he leans toward Sebastian. "I know that you're still the little boy who can't even talk in complete sentences. Why else would you be hiding behind a musician and a thief, waiting for them to save you from the man _you_ arranged to see murdered?"

"I didn't arrange for this. _You_ wove the noose; you get to wear it." Stepping forward, his heart in his throat, Sebastian invades his father's personal space, as Blaize did to him too many times to count during his childhood. _He can't hurt me._ Sebastian keeps the silent mantra playing in rhythm with his heartbeat. _He can't hurt me._ "And they're more than just a musician and a thief. Klavier's an amazing prosecutor; Kay's developing quite the reputation as a private investigator. Because people can be multiple things."

"They're a crutch that you're hiding behind." Blaize's eyes seem to burn with fury, but it is impotent, Sebastian realizes. "A tool that you're using."

"They're my friends. They're defending me because they care about me. But you wouldn't understand that, would you, father?" Sebastian sweeps his arm out in an arc, taking in the handful of people in the witness' room. "Because you've never had friends. Just tools and an idiot son, and this is the harvest you've reaped from that."

For a moment his father is speechless—with fury rather than acquiescence, Sebastian thinks. The guard takes Blaize's elbow in a firm grip, steering him toward the door.

"I'm going to _die_ , Sebastian." The fury doesn't fade from Blaize's eyes, but tears well up in front of it, a shimmering sheen that almost immediately begins to trickle down the old man's face. "You're holding a traitorous viper at your side—two of them, really. I know the Gavins and the Faradays, and no get of theirs can be trusted. Just _listen_ to me— _care_ about what you've done, and what's going to happen."

"I do, Father." Sebastian can feel tears welling up in his own eyes, and he doesn't try to stop them, this time. "I care more than I should, and less than I should. I care more than I think you even know how to. But I'm not enough of an idiot son to let you destroy what I've built in one last petty act of revenge."

"Sebastian—" Blaize's tears fade, and he pulls against the guard, trying to stay in the room.

"I loved you, Father." He _still_ loves his father, in some ways—or loves what his father could have been, _should_ have been, though he knows that the man before him was never the paragon he looked up to and wanted to emulate. "I wish you had been worthy of it, and I'm sorry that this is the way it ends. Find peace, if you can."

There is no peace to be had for the next four minutes. Blaize fights, tooth and nail. It isn't something Sebastian had been prepared for. Broil had gone quietly to his death, trying to maintain a sense of dignity. Blaize DeBeste has never followed the standard rules of proper behavior, though, and he refuses to go quietly to his demise.

Or at least to go patiently. Once he is in the execution chamber, the door between the two rooms locked, there is no sound to be heard. Sebastian can _imagine_ what he's saying, the pleas and the curses and the cries of defiance—he can hear it crystal-clear, but he knows that the sounds are only in his head.

Klavier has an arm around his shoulders, has guided him back down into his seat; Kay's arm is around his waist, her head resting on his shoulder. Someone is patting his back; someone has their hand on his head, but Sebastian can't bring himself to look away from the spectacle his father is making for long enough to see which is Edgeworth and which Lang.

He misses the moment his father drops. He is crying too hard by then, six years of emotion attempting to escape in six minute's time. His vision becomes a series of snapshots between tears: his father attempting to kick one of the guards in the face. His father with the noose being secured around his neck. His father standing on tip-toe, the noose raised high enough to keep him from running from the proper location.

His father dangling, eyes already going dark as his body spasms, and Sebastian wonders what the last thing he saw was. Did he see Sebastian, though the glass? Did he see what Sebastian has chosen to be, and did it hurt him?

Does Sebastian _want_ it to have hurt him?

He breaks down completely after that, sobs that seem to shake his body to the core. He doesn't notice Edgeworth leave. He doesn't see the medical examiner with his father's body. His face is flushed but he feels too cold, shivers running up and down his body.

Klavier is singing, a soft, stumbling tumble of lyrics in German. Kay doesn't bother trying lyrics, but she adds in a descant that sends chills of a different sort up and down Sebastian's spine.

No one tells him to stop crying. No one tells him he's being foolish, or stupid, or over-reacting. They _could—_ he knows that, has seen other people harangued at funerals for failing to meet expectations of proper grief—but they _don't_ , and Sebastian cries harder for a few seconds, loving these people far too much.

Eventually tears have to stop, though. Eventually he doesn't see his father's eyes staring from the darkened execution room, accusing and angry, and Sebastian is able to sit up, gathering the tattered remnants of his dignity around himself.

"You did good, DeBeste." Lang's hand once more pats against Sebastian's back. "It's a messy, complicated business when it's someone you care about—or _did_ care about—but you did good."

"It will get easier." Edgeworth comes to stand in front of Sebastian, blocking his view of the execution room. "Maybe not right away, but it _is_ over now, unequivocally, and it will get easier."

Edgeworth knows. Edgeworth has stood at the grave of the man who raised him; he has attended the execution of a trusted man who used him, watched Damon Gant hang; he has been through _so much_ , and he has still made himself a brilliant, important, _good_ man, and he is standing here for Sebastian.

"It... will get easier." Sebastian accepts the handkerchief that Edgeworth offers him, mopping at his face. "I... thank you. All of you. For being here."

"Whatever we can do to help." Klavier tightens his arm around Sebastian's shoulders.

"Nowhere else I'd rather be." Kay lifts her head, pressing a brief kiss to Sebastian's temple.

Dragging himself to his feet, feeling tired and strangely... stretched, as though his limbs are made of half-cooked pasta, Sebastian starts the mass exodus toward the door. Andwaite checks them off as they leave, before heading back into the room, presumably to put away the five chairs.

"I'll have to be catching another flight in a few hours." Lang speaks when they're in the prison entryway, his hands in his pockets. "Wish I could stay for longer, though. It's good to see you kids again."

"Good to see you again, too." Kay smiles at the Interpol agent.

"And any time you guys need anything... well, you pups know how to contact me." A brief salute, a flash of teeth, and Lang is gone, disappearing out into the darkness.

"I should also be going." Edgeworth slides his glasses on again. "Not that I wish to, but—"

"But you've got work to do." Sebastian nods, his voice sounding just slightly hoarse. "I appreciate you being here, more than I could ever say."

"But we all know how you work." Kay punches Edgeworth lightly in the arm. "So go chase down your flight. We'll hold up Sebastian and hold down the fort until you get back."

"I've very little doubt of that." Edgeworth smiles, and it is his honestly pleased smile, the one that he uses far too infrequently. "Take care of yourselves, all of you. And do call, Sebastian, even if it's as simple as needing to talk or needing suggestions on people it's safe to talk to."

"I will." Sebastian nods, his hands twisting together in front of him, rocking forward on his feet but refusing to let them move.

Edgeworth studies him, pale eyes flicking up and down Sebastian's body. Then he sighs, steps forward, and pulls Sebastian into the briefest, tightest hug of his life.

"Remember." Pushing his glasses up on his nose, Edgeworth glowers between the three of them. "Call, any of you, if you need me. _Auf Wiedersehen, meine Krieger_."

Sebastian doesn't understand half of the German, but from the way Klavier is glowing as Edgeworth walks away, he assumes it's a compliment.

Klavier's smile fades, though, his expression shifting to open, honest concern as he studies Sebastian. His hand very gently claims Sebastian's, his fingers ghosting over Sebastian's for a second before latching on. "What would you like to do, Sebastian?"

Sebastian laughs, the sound rough and unnatural in the silence of the prison's parking lot. "What I _want_ is to go back in time and somehow stop all _this_ from being the culmination of my life."

"It's not." Kay's hand claims his free one, her fingers more determined than Klavier's. "Your life is much, much more than this."

"I know." Sebastian nods, though the motion is jerky and uncoordinated. "There's a lot I wouldn't trade for the world, and I think... I think it's been worth all the rest. So since breaking the time-stream is off the table... would the two of you mind coming home with me, having wine and ice cream and... I don't know, playing music or something?"

"Anything you want." Klavier's fingers tighten.

"There's nowhere else we'd rather be." Freeing her hand, Kay once more slips her arm around his waist.

Klavier's arm comes to rest around Sebastian's shoulders again, and they walk like that towards Kay's car, an island of life and warmth walking through the darkness.

It is not the last time Sebastian will count on them to get him through the hardest part of a lyricless lament, but with the precedent they set that evening, Sebastian has no doubt they can make it through anything.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** Last chapter! I hope that everyone enjoyed the story, and thank you so much to those who reviewed. Spoilers for Apollo Justice abound in this section.

+1

Klavier doesn't call him.

Perhaps Klavier had expected Sebastian to hear about it through office gossip. Since Sebastian _does_ , it's not an _untrue_ assumption, but Sebastian's biggest source of intra-office information is Klavier himself. That means it takes over an hour for Sebastian to overhear someone talking about what a shame it is Gavin's career and life is falling apart, and that's an hour during which he could have been doing something more useful than filling out forms in triplicate.

Once he knows, it takes Sebastian less than ten minutes to make his way to Klavier's office. The door is locked, and Klavier doesn't respond to Sebastian's knocks or attempts to open it. Sebastian _almost_ leaves then, but after a moment's hesitation he instead pulls out the duplicate copy of Klavier's office key that Kay had slipped to him a little over a year ago. (She slipped Klavier one to Sebastian's office, and _she_ clearly has copies of both, so Sebastian had seen little point in refusing.)

Opening the office door slowly, Sebastian pokes his head in, scanning for any sign of his friend.

Klavier is standing in front of his desk, both hands palms-down on the top, his head bowed. He doesn't move when Sebastian slides into the room, doesn't seem to have heard the _klak_ of the key or the _click_ of the door closing behind Sebastian.

"Klavier...?" Sebastian's voice is hesitant, shuddering with Sebastian's uncertainty.

Klavier's head jerks up, and when he turns to face Sebastian, there is a smile on his face. " _Hallo_ , Herr Erste."

It isn't a true smile. It's a _pretty_ enough smile, but it's the smile that Klavier wears on-stage when he's feeling under the weather, into the courtroom when he's not a hundred percent sure of his deductions. It's a smile that doesn't touch his eyes, that hides everything he is really feeling, and it has been a while since Sebastian was kept at arm's length with it.

To say the last six months have been difficult for Klavier would be a gross understatement. Sebastian was with him when it all started crumbling to pieces. Kristoph hadn't called Klavier; no one at the prison had thought to call Klavier, though Klavier is listed as next of kin and should be well-known to most of the staff after seven years of brilliant work. Instead Klavier heard about it on the evening news, in the break room at work, while he and Sebastian were just trying to get a coffee and take a small break in a stressful twelve-hour day.

 _There's been a mistake._ Klavier had smiled, that same uneasy smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. _We'll get it sorted out._

Sorting it out had proven far harder than Klavier's grin had made it seem. It wasn't until two months later that Klavier was able to find a reason to meet the young defense attorney who had unexpectedly managed to get Kristoph Gavin convicted of murder, and when he did, what he found didn't help put any pieces together.

 _He's a good man._ Klavier had been lying with his feet up on the sofa, his head on the floor in Sebastian's lap. It had taken Kay and Sebastian both arguing with him to finally get Klavier to let them follow him home, when usually Klavier is the first to welcome people with open arms.

Given how much Klavier had been drinking and how little he had smiled that night, Sebastian wasn't surprised at his friend's reluctance for company. Klavier has had little experience dealing personally with trauma, and it's clear he doesn't understand how to handle it.

 _Justice._ Klavier's eyes had closed as he said the name, expression puzzled, arms crossing over his chest, and Sebastian had buried his hand in Klavier's hair, trying to provide some form of comfort. _He's a good man. Clever. Honest. It must have been Wright. It must've..._

Klavier's voice had been hesitant, though, and after a shared look Sebastian and Kay had tried their best to get him onto other topics.

And now... well, now there is no doubt about Kristoph Gavin's true nature. The video that's been posted to all the news sites is shaky, an illegal hand-held recording, but the contents are clear enough. It had taken Sebastian until his second viewing to get past how eerie it is seeing someone who looks so very much like Klavier fly into a frothing, frenzied rage and listen to what Kristoph was saying, but between words and actions his guilt is clear.

As is the guilt he has doled out onto other's shoulders, and Sebastian takes a hesitant step toward Klavier.

Klavier shies away, skittish as a colt, though his smile doesn't falter as he shoves a hand up to resettle his hair. "Can I help you with something, Sebastian?"

"I just wanted..." Sebastian hesitates, not certain what to say. He wishes Kay were here. Kay never seems at a loss for words, no matter what they're facing or what's happening around them.

Kay isn't here, though, and Sebastian is. Sebastian has been on the other side of this problem far more times than he'd like to count. What is it that Klavier does, when he finds Sebastian distraught about something?

And Klavier _is_ distraught, though he hides it far better and with far more determination than Sebastian does. As Sebastian's eyes adjust to the dim room, all illumination provided only by the light coming in through the window, he can see where Klavier has torn through his office like a small tornado. Mementos of the Gavinners have been piled in one corner of the room, a messy hodgepodge of posters and discs and music and knickknacks that are usually carefully cared for. Even more worrying is the clutter of papers scattering the floor to the left of Klavier's desk, as though at some point before Sebastian entered Klavier had swept his arm across the surface, flinging everything away.

"I want to help." Sebastian straightens, his eyes finding Klavier's, though Klavier tries to break eye contact as soon as it's achieved. "I heard about what happened. Tell me what I can do to help."

Klavier laughs, but it is a strange, jittering, awkward sound, far different from either his stage laugh or his genuine howls of mirth. "There's really nothing you can do to help. So if you could lock the door behind you again on your way out—"

"Do you really want me to go?" Sebastian speaks quietly, as he once more tries and fails to catch Klavier's gaze. "Tell me to go, tell me there's really absolutely nothing I can do to help you, and I'll leave. I can't _force_ you to let me help you. But I don't think that's what you really want."

Klavier stands frozen, his expression flickering between the calm, controlled court smile and something that Sebastian recognizes. It is a mix of horror and hurt, terror and trauma, despair and desolation, a toxic combination of emotions that Sebastian has spent far too much time having to clean himself of over the years. "What I _want_ , Sebastian, is something—some _things—_ that can never happen."

Again Sebastian takes a step closer to Klavier, and again Klavier shies away, the high note that can't quite be reached. Stilling his feet, Sebastian reaches out with one trembling hand. "Will you let me hug you, Klavier?"

Klavier goes very still, his head drooping as his eyes study something on the floor, a faint frown on his face. " _Wieso?_ "

Because Sebastian is afraid, seeing his usually-controlled friend like this. Because Sebastian has _been here_ , far too many times, and he knows that sometimes a kind hand can make all the difference. Because Klavier is a tactile person, far more than Sebastian is, and the fact that Klavier won't let himself be touched right now screams _wrong_ on a thousand levels. "Because you're my friend, and it would make me feel better."

"Ah." Klavier nods, the motion too detached, missing all of its usual grace. "If... if you want to."

Sebastian moves slowly, not wanting to startle Klavier. He moves up on Klavier's left side, his arm rising slowly. He hesitates for a moment, not sure whether he should try to put his arms around Klavier's neck or around his waist, and then with a shake of his head Sebastian just puts both arms around Klavier's chest and pulls him into a loose embrace.

For a moment Klavier stands rigid and stiff, a faint tremor running up and down his body—something that Sebastian can't see, but that he can feel quite clearly. Then a strangled noise, low and hoarse, escapes Klavier's throat, and his head comes down, his face buried against Sebastian's shoulder as his hands latch onto Sebastian's jacket.

"Do..." Sebastian pauses, feeling Klavier's trembling increase. "Do you want to talk about it?"

" _Nein._ " Klavier laughs again, that strained, pained sound.

"All right. Then... do you mind if I talk about it?"

Klavier is quiet for a moment, his breath sounding loud and ragged in the silence. When he answers, it's in a thready, tired whisper. " _Nein._ "

"All right." Sebastian tightens his arms around Klavier, and he has to clear his throat before he can continue, his tongue suddenly feeling too big. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"It isn't your fault." Klavier's head moves in a small negation. "You've no need to be sorry."

"It's a declaration of symmetry—damn it, _sympathy_." Sebastian blinks suddenly tearing eyes. "Also empathy. I know it's not the same, my father and your brother, but... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry you're having to go through this."

"It's not the same." Klavier's trembling increases, becomes full-body shivers that Sebastian can see as well as feel, that chatter his teeth together as he talks. "You didn't know anything. You were just a child, and your father—"

"You were seventeen, Klavier." Pulling back, forcing Klavier's head up one hand, Sebastian forces eye contact. "You were the same age when Kristoph used you as I was when my father tried to use me. _Seventeen_. We were both children."

A hesitant, broken smile toys at the corners of Klavier's mouth, but his eyes are empty and distant. "I should have seen. I should have seen before now. I've had so many opportunities... I could have looked into it back then. And then Broil tried to tell me. And then your father—"

"My father was a sadistic, terrible man, and _nothing_ that he said the day he died was worth listening to." It's not true, sadly. There are _some_ things that Blaize DeBeste said over the course of his life that were true—some things that were _good_ , even, that provided decent advice. Don't be afraid. Don't hide your emotions. Others had a glimmer of truth hidden in the midst of a world of wrong, like a needle of hope in a haystack of despair. Right now, though, that is not what Klavier needs to hear. Later, perhaps, when he is dealing with a different part of grief, Sebastian can talk to him about the things that were good about Kristoph. Right now, though, he needs more to remember the good about himself. "You and Kay are the best things that have ever happened to me, Klavier. Do you doubt Kay, because of what he said?"

Klavier shakes his head, and Sebastian realizes for the first time that Klavier's blond hair is slick and darkened by sweat even as he shivers. "Kay is wonderful."

"Then there's no reason to doubt yourself, either."

Again that terrible laugh, and Sebastian thinks he's going to hear it in his nightmares for the next few months. "He is my _bruder_. Always people have said we are so similar, so—so—"

"You look alike, but that's evidently all." Sebastian reaches up, smoothing some of Klavier's hair back into a semblance of its usual position. "He's nothing like you. You showed that very clearly during the trial. A very wise man once said that it takes courage and bravery to face down someone you respect, someone who has had power over you. You showed both very clearly today."

Klavier shakes his head, a near-frantic negation, and his trembling increases another notch. "I was not brave. I—I—"

"Breathe, Klavier." Sebastian breathes slowly in and out, pulling Klavier in to a tight embrace again. "It's all right. Breathe."

"I..." Klavier's voice is thick, lacking the clean, clear tones it usually has. "The things... he did... the things he... used me for..."

"It was terrible." Sebastian murmurs out his affirmation. "You've every reason to be furious, to be hurt, to want to see _him_ hurt."

Klavier's teeth are chattering audibly now, his hands once more clinging to Sebastian's jacket.

And Sebastian understands, at least a little bit. Tears begin to trickle down from his eyes, but his voice is steady. "You've also every reason to grieve. To cry. To _hurt_ , both for what's happened and for what's to come."

"He's going to die." Klavier's breath shudders, gasps that don't seem to give him enough oxygen. "He—what he did—it's the justice I've seen done—he _deserves_ it—he _used_ me—but he's going to _die—Kristoph's going to die, just like Daryan—_ and—and—"

Anything approaching coherency disappears after that, Klavier's words degenerating into gasping, terrible sobs as he buries his head against Sebastian's shoulder and just cries.

Sebastian has never really seen Klavier cry before, he realizes. These aren't pretty sobs, or a controlled fall of tears. Klavier's face burns a blotchy red, and his fine blond hair goes every which way as a combination of his frantic hands and his head against Sebastian's shoulder muss it. There are probably a hundred news agencies that would pay ludicrous amounts of money for a picture of Klavier like this, distraught and damaged and _human_ , and for a moment Sebastian hates them all, for making it this difficult for Klavier to reach a point where he can just cry.

There are more important things to worry about, though. There is a friend to comfort, and Sebastian finds that Kay and Klavier have done well in their hands-on tutoring over the years. He knows better than to speak more than simple words and reassurances while Klavier is in the worst of the sobbing, because Klavier won't be able to hear or properly understand anything more complex. He knows to keep hold of Klavier, gently but with assurance, and when Klavier's knees buckle he is able to guide them gently to the floor. He knows that sometimes music can speak far more cleanly and clearly than words, and he hums out some of the melody lines he has helped Klavier work on over the last few months, trying to make the music more than just another source of pain. (He would kill Daryan for that, if he didn't know Daryan is already going to hang, for making the music something tainted and painful now too, and sometimes Sebastian thinks there are more ghosts of his father in him than he would like to admit.)

He knows to let Klavier go, when uncontrolled sobbing gives way to gentler sniffles, and to provide a tissue so that Klavier can begin making himself presentable.

He knows his _friend_ , and though it is not something Klavier has had to do for him, Sebastian keeping his hair short, Sebastian reaches out to undo Klavier's braid and tries to straighten out the man's hair, knowing Klavier will feel better when he is looking pretty and presentable again.

Klavier shuffles in an awkward circle, giving Sebastian better access to his hair, the tissue crumpled in one fist. " _Verzeihung_. I didn't mean..."

"Didn't mean what?" Sebastian doesn't manage the same pretty little braid-ponytail-twist thing that Klavier has taken to wearing for the last year, but his simple braid is elegant and even, just like Kay taught him, and it should suffice for the moment. "Didn't mean to trust me? Didn't mean to let some of that hurt out before you did something... something we'd all regret?"

Klavier leans forward, hugging his knees to his chest. "I didn't mean to burden you."

Settling down next to Klavier, his shoulder against Klavier's, Sebastian follows Klavier's gaze to where it's fixed on the sunset colors starting to play outside. "Has it been a burden, those times you've let me cry on you?"

" _Nein._ " Klavier huffs out a breath, his gaze darting to Sebastian, an annoyed frown flitting across his face. "That isn't what I meant. I just... I should be able to handle this."

"So it's all right for _me_ to need help, to need to reach out, to need to cry, but it's not all right for _you_ to? Is that the premise we're going with?" Sebastian tries to keep his tone gentle while still pointing out the hypocrisy.

"I'm not _supposed_ to cry." Klavier's lips twist, a grimace that isn't quite a smile. "I'm Klavier Gavin. I'm a star. Just because everything I've built was based on a lie—"

"It wasn't." Sebastian's hand reaches out, resting atop Klavier's. "I've worked with you for seven years now. I know that everything you do, you do because you think it's _right_. This is the Dark Age of the Law. We've both heard that how many times? How many people have offered us bribes to look the other way? How many people have offered to forge evidence for us? But we don't do it. We stick to the facts and the truth and _justice_ , and we do what's right, even when it's hard."

Klavier is silent for a moment, frowning faintly as he studies the beautiful palette of colors that the sky is becoming, but he doesn't pull his hand away from Sebastian's. "I've been wrong so often these last few months... I was wrong about the Kitaki case. I was wrong about Tobaye. I was wrong about Daryan. I've apparently _always_ been wrong about K-Kristoph."

"I seem to remember someone telling me, after I first lost a case, that if the person wasn't guilty, it's right that we lose. There's no justice in sending an innocent to prison." Sebastian pauses, remembering far too well the sting of frustration and disappointment and _disgust_ in himself that he had felt. "Actually, _several_ people said that to me, and I think I needed to hear it from all of them."

"There is no justice in an innocent suffering in prison, you're right." Klavier closes his eyes, and his breathing hitches, just slightly. "As there is no justice in an innocent man suffering for seven years for a crime he did not commit."

"You didn't know. It wasn't your fault." The words feel hollow, helpless, but Sebastian says them anyway. Sometimes repetition is the only way to get a concept to really _stick_ , especially when it is one that feels alien or that runs counter to the guilt and shame that want to consume all in their path.

"I disbanded the Gavinners. Officially." Klavier's voice is strained, and his gaze flicks to the pile of music memorabilia on the ground. "Not that we've been doing much since Daryan, everyone wanted to keep their heads down anyway, but I... I should focus just on the prosecuting."

"The music isn't the reason this happened." Sebastian tightens his hold on Klavier. "If you need a break—if you _want_ a break—then take one. But you're the one who let me see that I could be more than one thing. More than just a prosecutor. More than just my father's tool. That I could love the music and use it and be a more complete person while still being a good prosecutor. I won't let some psychopathic, status-obsessed, vindictive, evil bastard take it away from you without a fight."

Klavier blinks, and there is honest humor in his smile as he meets Sebastian's gaze. "That psychopathic, status-obsessed, vindictive, evil bastard is my brother."

"I believe we already established earlier in the conversation that my father is a sociopath." Sebastian tries on a small smile of his own, surprised to find that it fits. "The prosecution submits as evidence that familial ties do not necessitate moral ties exhibit A, himself."

Klavier laughs, and though the sound is still slightly strained, it's actually _his_ laugh again, warm and honest. "I barely feel up to being a prosecutor right now, Sebastian. I don't think I can handle playing defense attorney, especially for a theorem that I don't really want to see proved."

"Then just be the judge. Let the evidence presented speak for itself." The sky has darkened further, and Sebastian clambers to his feet.

He is holding out a hand to help Klavier up when the door to Klavier's office opens, and a familiar face pokes through, bringing a wash of industrial lighting from the hallway with her. " _There_ you two are. I figured you had to be here, if you weren't in Sebastian's office."

"Kay." Klavier scrambles to his feet, a smile that is more honest than the one he greeted Sebastian with but still not quite true sliding into place. "What brings you to—"

Kay doesn't wait for an invitation. Marching across the office, she throws her arms around Klavier and hugs him tight. "It's going to be all right. I promise. No matter what it takes, we'll make everything right, and _you'll_ be just fine, too."

Klavier's right hands rises, hovers hesitantly in the air for a moment before burying itself in Kay's hair. Sebastian can see Klavier's body untense again, his shoulders relaxing as he settles into the embrace. When he speaks, his voice is rough and low, burred by a German accent and what might be a lingering threat of tears. "I think, with the two of you here... we just might be able to do all that, Fraulein Gauner."

"Definitely." Kay frees her left hand, reaching up to pat Klavier on the cheek. Then her hand reaches out, toward Sebastian, though her eyes stay locked on Klavier. "Come on, you. This is definitely a time for a group hug."

Sebastian hesitates for just a moment, not certain it's really the time or the place, with the office door still cracked open. Though he knows that Klavier cares deeply about both of them, and that truth is more important than status to Klavier, Klavier is _also_ a very perception-focused person, and if someone were to look in and get the wrong impression—

Then Klavier's left hand also rises, a clear invitation, and Sebastian joins the small huddle, holding his two closest friends tight. Let people think what they want. Keeping Klavier—keeping _all_ of them—sane through this mess is what matters most, and there is nothing but good to be found in the feel of Klavier's calloused fingertips against his neck, in the clutch of Kay's hand at the back of his jacket, in the smell of Kay's perfume and Klavier's cologne mingled and the sounds of their breathing pushing away the silence and the coming darkness.

When they break apart, Kay has somehow ended up in the middle, and she grabs Klavier's left hand and Sebastian's right as she steers them toward the door. "Do either of you have anything that absolutely _has_ to get done tonight?"

Sebastian shakes his head, and Klavier mutters out a quiet negation in German.

"Good. Then we're going to get dinner—I know this quiet little Japanese place, no one will recognize you, Klavier, and if they do they'll be smart enough not to say anything. Then we're going back to your place." Kay hesitates, glancing back at them for the first time. "Unless you'd prefer we go to Sebastian's place?"

"His or mine, I've no preference." Klavier's smile is tired but warm, lighting his eyes with a gentle fire. "So long as the two of you will be there, I will be far happier than I've any right to be."

Kay smiles back, and Sebastian allows himself to be pulled along. They pause just for a moment for Klavier to lock his office—during which time Sebastian makes sure Kay remembered to re-lock his—and then they head off together, taking the stairs and back hallways to avoid as many people as possible.

The next few weeks won't be easy. The last thing the legal system needs right now is another scandal—though at least _this_ scandal is the undoing of an older one? Will that help? Or will a corruption-weary people just doubt everyone involved that much harder? No matter how the public perception falls out, Sebastian knows from bitter experience that Klavier's emotions are likely to be a roller-coaster of positives and negatives, unexpected catapults upwards and careening free-fall drops down for the near future.

But they are together. They have each other. They have a core group of friends and colleagues that they can trust still—Edgeworth and Gumshoe and Justine and Shields and Lang and Von Karma, at the least. They have _new_ allies, potentially, because all that Sebastian has heard from Klavier about Apollo Justice makes the man sound rather wonderful.

The next few weeks won't be easy, but they have been through hell before, more times than Sebastian would like to think about, and with the support that they have—with the support that they can give each other—Sebastian has no doubt they can make it through this time, too.


End file.
